Blind My Eyes, Sew Them Shut
by Greenaleydis
Summary: She shared her memories, memories of how her body reacted when he was close. He could feel her emotions as if they were his own - her heartbeat crescendoed in his head. "That's what you feel for me?" "Yes." "Then... what else is there?" Dramione, Post DH.
1. Darkness and Fear

**Blind My Eyes, Sew Them Shut**

_"I shut my eyes in order to see." - Paul Gauquin_

**Chapter One: Darkness and Fear**

She was moving. Who knew where, but she could feel wind moving over her, feel herself bouncing, and feel the warm, living bind that held her up. Were her eyes closed?

She consciously made herself open her eyes.

More darkness.

The realization hit her so hard she couldn't breathe; she was blind and was now being carried off by some Death Eater.

Who knew what they would do to her once they reached their destination? The Death Eaters came back full force not two months after the Dark Lord's demise, with a new leader and a new murderous purpose. By killing her, they would be delivering a major blow to the other side, which would lose a valuable thinker and possibly set Harry Potter over the edge. But what did they want with her if they didn't want her dead?

If she had a wand, she could be out of this predicament in two seconds! Even her wandless magic couldn't help her now, as she wasn't strong enough to use it; the time she needed the buggering stick of wood the most, she didn't have it.

"Just kill me," she rasped quietly, not even struggling. How could she when she couldn't move? Her body felt so unbelievably tired; her throat was still burning.

"I'm not going to kill you, mudblood."

She'd know that voice anywhere - it was the snarling drawl of Draco Malfoy. Despite her fear, Hermione wrinkled her nose in repulsion. She would have preferred someone else to be carrying her off - Malfoy held a personal grudge that could only worsen her situation. Hermione tried to quell her rapid heartbeat as she realized that he was actually carrying her - which meant that he had more control over her than she would have wanted.

The fact that he was carrying her also meant that he didn't have a wand either.

"Stop moving, you're touching me," he said as she touched his arm.

Hermione's dark eyes filled with tears. Not only was she being carried off by Death Eaters, but she was also being carried off by someone who hated her. There was no sympathy for her anywhere now - she was completely alone and helpless. "Just shut up for now, or I _will_ kill you." He spoke in a harsh whisper this time.

Hermione cried silently, letting the wind dry the tears and create a dirty mask to hide her face in.

* * *

_All she could do was run._

_She had no wand, no help, no Harry, no Ron, and they were gaining on her, throwing spells all around her. Who knew where she was running - she didn't know this city very well. Her only concern was to put distance between herself and the Death Eaters behind her._

_As she continued to run, she became aware of breathing above her, next to her, and warmth and fabric around her. The street faded slowly to black as a voice pervaded her senses._

"Stop it. You're creeping me out," Draco said, his breath warm against her cheek. She flinched against it, bile rising in her throat as she collapsed backwards onto her elbows. She was no longer running, yet she felt dizzy, as if she had been hung upside down. She still couldn't see, no matter how many times she blinked.

"I don't think so, Granger." Hermione's heart fell as she realized that she had not been running; her hands and feet were bound with shoelaces. She fought them by rubbing her wrists together, but her muscles hurt too much for her to attempt to break free with any real conviction.

She wanted to cry, to be alone. It was freezing wherever she was; the ground below her was damp moss covered with gritty layers of dead foliage. She tried to roll her shoulders to ease some of the discomfort. "What's creeping you out?"

"Your bloody eyes. They're pitch black all around. Now shut it."

She must have looked like an insect. "Where - "

"I said _shut it_," he spat, pushing her onto her stomach with his foot.

Her throat closed up as grimy dirt mashed against her forehead. Of course he wouldn't tell her where she was. She was a prisoner, not worthy of anything but contempt.

_I am going to die here, in darkness and fear._

No. She couldn't think like that, not when she still had an opportunity to escape, not when she had only been captured a short time before. She breathed deeply, forcing her heart to calm its furious beating. Death was not something she should think about now, especially since adrenaline wasn't making her feel self-sacrificing.

She cried out in surprise as her arm was yanked backwards and she was dragged across wet and gritty ground.

"Stay here," her captor said, and she felt a rush of biting air as he got up and moved away from her.

Draco Malfoy looked outside of their shelter, catching his breath and grounding his nerves. He'd been hiding there for almost a full week, following the two Death Eaters sent to capture her and waiting for them to strike. After running all the way through the many suburbs and then down a busy road that turned into a rural one, he needed to make sure that they had not been followed in any way, for there was not as much tree cover here as he would have liked for a hiding spot. In the distance, even through the trees, he could see the lights of the outskirts of Edinburgh. And though he'd taken care of the blokes that were after her by hand (or fist,) he wasn't absolutely sure they were alone. Draco had no wand to defend them if more came.

And then what was to become of his pathetic scheme to smash - or marginally disrupt - the big plans that the Death Eaters had?

He could hear Hermione Granger crying from here, and her hollow pain offended him. Had he not saved her? So he had gotten fresh with her, so he had no intention of being friendly. She'd understand, even thank him later. Draco rolled his eyes and made his way back to her. "Shut it," he muttered, sitting against the remains of a cracked stone fence.

She immediately stopped and rubbed her eyes against her shoulder. "What are you doing with me?"

"Look here," he said vehemently, "if you don't be quiet, we could be found by them. So for _once,_ I need you to just shut your trap and do what I say."

Hermione tried to look at him, see his face, but she could only see darkness. Who was after them? The Order? If that was the case, then she should scream as loud as she could and try to break free.

But no. The Order didn't even know that she was in trouble - she was supposed to be on a short holiday right now.

Who was he talking about?

Hermione shook her head, feeling her ruined shirt shift stiffly around her. Her clothes - a casual blue shirt and pair of jeans - were soiled through with sweat, dirt, water, and mud, and her hair had taken the worse of all four things. She could feel a cold itch on her scalp that she couldn't scratch and a rip in her sleeve that was letting dirt in underneath.

She choked up again, thinking of how she must look. She knew that Malfoy would be even more inclined to treat her like dirt now that she looked like it.

* * *

Though his master's back was turned from him, he could still feel her cold glare. He shuffled his feet, waiting for her reaction, waiting for her wrath to come down on him. He hadn't said a word to her yet, but he knew that she liked to operate without words. His master preferred to go and retrieve the information she needed from her subjects' brains, not their mouths.

Images from the night floated under his vision, and he tried in vain to repress them. The mudblood's back, running, turning corners, her brown hair a tangled fury behind her, spells flying all around her. As a black spell fringed with blue hit her on the back of the head, he'd peered around her to see the Malfoy boy, glaring.

He was shaking now, the memories becoming choppier as he felt his master's anger, her urgency to know how it ended. There was the Granger girl's eyes, staring at him, inky black like an animal; his mate's twisting neck and the splintering sounds of bone; searing pain in his back and legs; Malfoy's retreating form, her legs hanging freely to his right, her head to his left...

And then there was nothing.

He came back into consciousness, his eyes settling on the skin of his master's luxuriously clad and creamy white shoulders. He dared not let his eyes linger for more than a moment.

"What happened next?" she asked quietly, her voice flat and crisp. He cringed and tried to hide what he did not want to say. It was no use.

"Define 'disappeared.'" Her hand clenched around her glass.

* * *

At first, Hermione could not understand why he was carrying her - surely it was tiring him out, and surely he did not like the idea of touching a muggleborn, let alone carrying one. But when he'd set her down to pee, she understood.

He had no choice.

They were still in the forests, and the ground was covered in thick mud and fallen branches. Hermione was wearing sandals, brand new ones, that were completely ruined at this point, but she'd regained enough strength to walk. It was early summer, so the air was fresh around her, and it had definitely rained recently enough to keep the ground moist. Of course he still could have had her walk by herself, but he must have been trying to make good time - helping her pick through the forest would have taken three times as long, and when he carried her, it was much safer.

It also gave her an opportunity to think.

She tried not to think too much about the fact that he was indeed carrying her, because she really didn't know what to make of that. She should have felt disgusted, she realized, having him put his hands on her in such a way, but losing her eyesight and energy in her muscles had rearranged her priorities for the time being. Having gotten over the initial shock of her situation and fear of her captor, Hermione was now only concerned with figuring a way out of her situation that did not require the extra sense, and making the trip as painless as possible by not complaining. Malfoy was not really talking to her except to tell her to shut it, which suited her just fine. She didn't really like the sound of his voice anyway.

Of course, she only spoke a few words to him to gather key information about their location, which she estimated to be somewhere north of Edinburgh. If they were traveling in the trees along the way, it would only be a matter of time before they entered the magical part of the forest, and perhaps came upon some magical villiages some time after that. But until they found a village in that magical forest, no map could help him navigate. He would have to pick a direction and stick with it.

She'd also learned that they were travelling alone.

_Ugh. Blinded and alone with Malfoy in the woods._

Hermione was no stranger to camping, and though she was being held against her will, she could be certain that Malfoy was not accustomed to this sort of thing. That meant a lot of different things. How was he going to get food? As far as she knew, Malfoy probably had no idea how to cook, having relied on house elves for his entire life. He was also not likely to know the types of plants they could eat, magical and regular, nor was he one to forage around in the dirt. Being deprived of her eyesight gave him an enormous level of control over her - she couldn't see him and what he was doing, she couldn't defend herself properly if she needed to, and she just had to trust him for some things. And she was not big on trusting him with anything at all.

He would also need other supplies, like water, baths, toilet breaks, and all sorts of other private things that would now be harder to obtain since they were away from civilization. She would rather have had her eyesight to ensure her safety during such tasks, especially with him around. Now that she couldn't see him, she wondered where he was when he set her down and if he could possibly be close to her or watching her when she thought he was far away. One thing he _could_ do was move very quietly when he wanted to.

The fact that he probably wasn't going to let her have things like bathing and food - which in her situation would be a luxury - made everything worse.

She'd heard her share of horror stories about being captured; if she was going to escape, she'd have to stop fantasizing about him treating her like a human being.

Of course, she still had no idea where he was taking her or who they were running from. Though she knew that they were alone in the forest, and he had apparently not departed on his journey with the other two Death Eaters in tow, she could assume nothing. For all she knew they were running from Harry Potter himself. Perhaps Malfoy was expecting to meet up with the other blokes later? Ha, they should have known better than to leave only one person to watch after her. She was a loose cannon, wand or not.

If only she had her strength and her vision. The vision was gone... the strength would take a few days.

Hermione still had her other senses, which had on account of her blindness gotten reasonably better in a short amount of time. She tried to determine where they were based on the steps Malfoy took; he was avoiding roads, which was a good sign - at least he knew _that_. She could also tell if it was daylight or moonlight by the sounds and the temperatures she heard and felt, though she had no inclination of the time.

He set her down roughly against a tree and unbound her hands and feet. This was the first time he had done this in the two days that he had been dragging her along. She ran her hands over bumpy roots, trying to figure out where they were now by identifying the type of tree she rested against. They could possibly have crossed over into the magical part of this forest - if they were walking in the direction that she suspected. Taking off her bounds was probably not necessary; her hands gave her a little more of an advantage that was never given to a prisoner.

"Aren't you tired of carrying me?" Hermione asked into the darkness, pausing in her tree-feeling to rub some life into her abused wrists. She licked her lips, wondering if her chapstick was still in her front pocket.

"You have no idea," he said, his unsteady breathing apparent. "Fucking pricks."

Besides being taken aback by his potty-mouth, she was surprised that he placed the blame on the Death Eaters that were chasing her and not herself - surely he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to pick at her? "Who are you running from?"

There was an entire minute of silence as he caught his breath somewhere off to her right. He then responded, "People we don't want to be captured by."

Oh, _that_ was really clear. Now she could include the police and the Russian mafia. Hermione exhaled in frustration, realizing that she couldn't even tell what kind of tree she was leaning against. "Why should I trust _you__?_"

"I don't need your bloody trust," he said, picking her up unexpectedly. She squeaked and squirmed, causing him to clamp her arms at her sides with his arm and chest. "I just need to keep you from them." His voice was full of contempt, but she recognized a statement of protection when she heard one.

Whether or not she believed it was another story altogether.

* * *

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I profiting off the display of this story in any way._


	2. Travelling with Malfoy

_"He that is taken and put into prison or chains is not conquered, though overcome; for he is still an enemy." - Thomas Hobbes_

**Chapter Two: Traveling with Malfoy**

Her first bathroom break was a spectacle, just as she'd predicted it to be. She had definitely put it off for as long as she could, but she was going to pee on him if he didn't let her go now.

"You're making this such a big deal, mudblood. Just go!"

Hermione blinked in vain. "I can't see, and I won't go if you're watching me!"

Draco tossed up his hands and stormed away, knowing that they would argue more if he protested again. He didn't want their argument to get too explosive, lest it invite some Death Eaters to scope out the area. Not to mention that her voice was grating his nerves and he was barely resisting the urge to reach out and slap her.

She listened until she could barely make out the sound of him crunching through the fallen leaves. She put her back against a nearby tree. All she could do at this point was hope that he was decent enough to give her some privacy. She had issues with peeing outside in broad daylight, let alone while with someone holding her captive.

After she had silently pulled up her jeans, she listened. She couldn't hear him at all. How far away could she get if she ran now? She reached deep inside herself for some magic.

"Don't even think about it," a voice said, directly in front of her.

Tears came to her eyes involuntarily. Who knew if he'd been there the whole time or not? "I hate you," she mumbled, putting her face in her arms.

Instead of responding with any of the million things he could have said to that, he snorted, which said all of those things for him. He pulled her up by her arm.

As they traveled that day, Hermione fumed silently, cringing away from him as much as possible with every step he took through the foliage. Vulnerability was a difficult thing to digest. It squirmed in her stomach like a derisive little eel, mocking her sense of self-worth. She wanted nothing more than to squish it flat, hammer it down so she could concentrate on how to escape.

Magic boiled inside of her. She needed to incapacitate Malfoy long enough for her to run a safe distance away. How could she do that? There were so many things one could do with wandless magic - it was just a matter of using as little energy as possible to do as much damage as possible.

Without warning, she pushed a combination of energy and magic out of her pores, and they were on fire.

"Oh _stop it,_" he muttered tiredly, more irritated than angry. His arms turned ice cold, and she choked on a mouthful of steam. Her resolve faltered; now she was weaker, and all she had done was make him angry.

At least she knew that he could do wandless magic as well, which was good... sort of. No, it really wasn't. It just made it harder for her to understand that she probably wasn't going to get out of this. Hermione breathed in and out, noticing that his grip on her had tightened.

"Stop struggling so much and you'll survive."

"What do you care?" she spat, her voice shaking as she recovered from the embarrassment of having her attempt foiled so easily.

"I don't - let's be clear on that. Just don't get on my nerves and I won't hurt you," he muttered quietly, lifting her up in his arms a little higher so their faces were level.

"Like I believe that. You hurt people just for the fuck of it."

She gasped as gravity took her to the forest floor and her temple bounced against a stone. As she groaned, he stormed away from her determinedly. She was definitely bleeding.

And now she was completely alone.

"Hey!" she yelled after him, her perception of up and down now reversed.

He responded in the distance with something that sounded like "Fuck off."

Her eyes welled up with tears again. She was alone and blind in a forest, and thus fresh meat to any enemy she might encounter. The fact that she was free, that Malfoy had left her there and she could now be in control of her own fate now seemed unimportant.

She pulled herself to her feet, and unexpectedly hit her head on something hard. She sobbed openly now, slowly moving around the branch and reaching out with her hands. She now had no idea from which direction they had come, so she couldn't go back, and she couldn't tell which direction Malfoy had gone off in. If she'd felt vulnerable before, it was nothing to how she felt now.

Hermione slowly picked her way through the trees and plants, the shaking of her shoulders having nothing to do with the breeze filtering through the trees. She couldn't use any wandless magic to fix her eyesight; it had been a dark spell that had taken it and it would take a lot more than some healing to get it back, if she ever would. She couldn't apparate without her wand, and the chances of her finding a portkey or even another person out here were very slim.

Her words seemed so frivolous now, and she cringed at her snotty comment. Why would he be put out by something like that anyway? He knew it to be true, and if he didn't, it was probably still not the first time he had heard it. But that didn't matter, as it was the fact that he'd left her there, in the mud, as soon as she'd said it that made it something to regret.

As much as she hated him, she had developed some kind of unreal dependency on his senses. He'd actually carried her, which was something she would have expected from someone like Harry or Ron, or a friendly acquaintance, not an enemy. That had not been entirely necessary. She knew that he was trying to move as quickly as possible, but why was her life worth it to him?

Was he trying to save himself? He should have just dropped her like a stone from the beginning - what was he doing with her anyway? _She_ honestly would have dropped him if their roles had been switched.

Oh, but he _had_ dropped her, literally, just now.

She concluded that he was on some kind of power trip. He knew that she needed him. She sucked in her breath and tried to shake away her tears. She wasn't weak, but she was acting like it. She needed to calm down, toughen up, and figure out how fix this.

Draco paced, fuming. This ordeal was becoming more trouble than it was worth. He was doing a good thing by keeping her from them, and all she could do was complain and struggle. Would she rather he left her to Krokesh and Rubinoff, letting them take her to Master?

_She doesn't need to be alive anyway,_ he rationalized. _In fact, everything would work just fine if she were dead. Dead, she is no use to the Death Eaters either._ Neither the Death Eaters nor the Ministry of Magic had any way of knowing whether she was alive or dead while she was with him, so if he killed her or if he left her to die, no one would know...

Draco snorted at that thought, disgusted that he had considered it even for a moment. He wasn't going to kill her. Of course not. When he was inevitably captured by either side, if he had killed her, there was no way to escape either death or a life sentence in Azkaban. Besides, it wouldn't feel right.

But if she inexplicably died, the Death Eaters could claim responsibility for taking her and killing her if they wanted to. They already knew that she had not been captured, so they in turn had more information about the situation than anyone in Potter's outfit, who suspected nothing yet. It would probably take Potter a week to find out that she was gone, and then there would be scrambling on the Ministry's part. And while the Ministry scrambled to find the forces necessary to conduct a search, the Death Eaters would be planning, training, building their torture contraptions and Imperiousing key Ministry officials.

The other thing he could do was give her to Potter and his forces. He did _not _want to be thrown in Azkaban for everything he'd done just to save her life however - she wasn't _that_ special. And she'd see to it that he was given the worst possible sentence, no doubt; no one could deny her intelligence and connections for such things. He hated her for that. It was why they'd said that he wasn't valuable.

Though in reality, they'd felt doubt in his heart, and _that_ was why he wasn't valuable. But the statement hurt all the same.

He then heard a small noise, like a wounded animal, somewhere off to his right. He turned his head and saw something vaguely human looking through the trees, at least fifty meters away.

Well, she apparently had a sense of direction.

He would have to figure out what he was going to do later. He didn't need her blundering around until she got captured and then divulging his part in it all so they could get him too. Screw that, he had enough things to worry about without the Death Eaters knowing he was not only skipping out on them, but traitorous scum as well. He picked his way over to her as quietly as he could, and waited until he was a few feet away before he stopped.

She stopped too, hearing the sudden crunch of foliage under his trainers, and looked blindly at a point over his shoulder. He got a proper look at her eyes, covered in glassy ink... _she'd look like a demon if she didn't look so frightened._

Her head was bleeding, perhaps a result of walking around blindly in the woods, or perhaps a product of her fall. He felt nothing at this besides a slight queasy feeling - something about the smell of blood made him sick. She was dirty beyond belief, and her hair was full of twigs and leaves. She hadn't looked nearly as bad when he'd dropped her.

"I need a bath," she said, still looking over his shoulder.

Everything about her was suddenly bizarrely hilarious. Draco couldn't keep up his silent charade anymore - he burst into laughter.

Hermione's jaw dropped, beyond insulted, beyond humiliated. "Shut up, you maggot," she said, trying to run her hands through her hair. Draco shook his head, still chuckling away. She may have been annoying and insufferable, but Hermione Granger definitely had some entertainment value.

As it was pointed out, she did need a bath. He had carried her when she was covered in a thin layer of filth, because he was as well, but now that she was a host for the viral plague, there was no way he was carrying her. They would be safe enough from those louts until nightfall, though it was nearing late afternoon. They both needed a wash.

"Alright, Granger,' he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, and he cruelly laughed again.

It took him the remainder of the hour to find a water spot big enough for any kind of washing - this meant something larger than a dirty puddle. He eventually settled on a rocky ravine, knowing that it was likely the only one he would find that day. He'd had to guide her along for most of the way, so he got a taste firsthand of how much trouble _not_ carrying her was going to be. It was a good thing he was strong - or maybe a good thing that she was so light. Did that girl eat?

Some spell that the two Death Eaters had used had sapped her strength away, so she was also moving about as fast as his dead grandmother.

"We're at water, Granger. Wash up." He crossed his arms. Her slowness really pissed him off. He knew that she was trying to play it tough, pretend like nothing was wrong - that was her personality. But he also knew that she was moments away from collapsing with the effort.

Hermione turned her head this way and that, not being able to see the water, but being able to hear it. She bent down slowly, her hands outstretched.

Her carefulness was even more painful to watch, but he knew that he had to be patient with her. He _wanted_ to put his foot against her behind and push her, headfirst, into the water, but the last thing he wanted was for her to bang her head against a rock and have to be carried, soaking wet and unconscious, through the night.

She sighed when the water engulfed her hands. She rubbed it onto her face with her rough fingers and blunt nails, scratching at the dried blood and cleaning out the little scrape on her forehead. Draco looked around before walking a bit further down and washing his own face.

Hermione turned herself over and lied down on her back, letting her hair rest in the water. The current pulled at it, removing the loose dirt, and she ran a hand through it now to dislodge the leaves, twigs, and sap that had also gotten in it. She had a gigantic knot in the back that she'd been feeling for hours and hours; it definitely needed to come out. As she leaned further into the water, the coldness crept up to her scalp and loosened her hair some more from its grimy bond.

She now knew that Malfoy had as many mood swings as a pregnant woman; one second he was storming off in a random direction and the next he was laughing at her helplessness... who could ever know what he was thinking?

She missed her eyesight; she wanted to see the expression on his face, his body language, and basically everything she couldn't without eyes. In her condition, she had to rely on things like little huffs of annoyance and sighs of frustration to tell what he was thinking. Being a Death Eater, he was skilled in deception. He could be using little things like that to lead her along when the reality of something could be completely different.

"Come on, this isn't a luxury spa. Time to go."

"But - "

She was cut off as Draco pulled her up, letting the cold water from her hair trail down her back. She used the other hand to attempt to wring it out before he picked her up.

_At least I am a little cleaner_, she reasoned, letting him put another arm under her legs.


	3. Not A Prisoner

_"The earth has music for those who listen." - William Shakespeare_

**Chapter Three: Not A Prisoner**

Draco continued north, fascinated by the sudden changes in the forest as they crossed over into the hidden magical forest. Everything around them came to life; small animals scurried around in trees and beautiful plants swayed in a non-existent breeze. They'd taught him about some of these things at Hogwarts but now he was seeing them up close.

"Wow," he murmured, lightly stroking a bright red shrub, which quivered in response - a blood bush. He ran through the potion properties in his head, ignoring Hermione's restlessness.

She was able to hear the sounds of the magical forest and feel the difference in the air, but she could not fully appreciate it without her eyesight. She put her arm out, hoping to feel something, only to have Malfoy snap it back into place at her side. "There are man-eating plants all around here, Granger," he said conspiratorially.

Hermione huffed and narrowed her eyes. He was so unnecessarily awful to her, prisoner or not.

Draco collected quite a few useful things, including panacea sap, which was a somewhat rare sap that was used in healing. Draco set her down roughly to give himself him more freedom with his arms. He took a huge leaf off of a nearby tree and began to scrape at the sticky sap.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked blindly, turning her head.

"I found a panacea tree," he said shortly.

Panacea trees were beautiful and useful. She reached out her hands. "Is it here?" she asked breathlessly, her fingers brushing against rough bark.

"No," Draco muttered, cupping the sticky sap and making a makeshift bag out of the leaf. He put this in his pocket, hoping it wouldn't run, and turned to Hermione, who was feeling up the tree with the large leaves. He bent down to her and took her arms in his hands, and guided them over to the correct tree.

It was a strange moment, feeling him helping her to feel, through her palms, the world around her. There was silence as she rubbed her fingers over the smooth trunk of the tree, imagining it to look something like a birch tree. She inhaled sharply as her fingers touched something cold and sticky - panacea sap. She brought her sticky hand to the scrape on her forehead.

Draco watched her movements. There was something strangely beautiful in the sudden grace she had developed; the slowness that had driven him mad earlier now looked like a slow dance. He realized that he was watching a blind person learn to use her hands as eyes; he was helping her to understand and see her surroundings.

"You are not a prisoner. With them, you would be. Know that," he said blankly, still watching her. He knew what being a prisoner felt like - he'd been imprisoned after the Dark Lord's defeat, only escaping one month ago.

Hermione nodded, taking a small, soft leaf between her fingers gently. "Prisoners don't get to wash. Prisoners don't get to know where they are. Prisoners don't receive help with anything."

Draco looked away from her now, eying the trees around him.

Hermione ran with the moment. "Why are you doing this?"

Draco looked back at her. Her eyes were open, fixed on a higher point on the tree that she couldn't see; her hands had stopped moving.

His original plan was to keep her as if she were a prisoner by not speaking to her; a prisoner-captive relationship suited his needs perfectly well. Of course, the plan had only been to capture her and keep her out of his enemies hands; he hadn't thought of what he would do once he had her. He had definitely not expected her to be blind and weak, and had definitely not expected to have to carry her during most of their escape.

Now that she was with him, he did not know what to do. They would be nearing some villages soon; neither of them had eaten or drank more than water in the past few days. With the change of his original plan - a change in the form of her glassy black eyes - it was impossible for them to maintain a prisoner-captor relationship.

He was going to have to help her constantly. And if they were going to make it through this, they needed to work together.

Draco sighed and went to sit near her, stretching his arms and cracking his back. "What makes you think I'm going to tell you?" he asked.

Hermione turned her head in his direction for a moment, and then went back to feeling up the panacea tree in front of her, her hopeful expression dissolving into an irritated one. "Who are we running from?"

If he told her, maybe she would be less inclined to try to escape. But would she believe him? "Death Eaters. They want to capture you."

"Why?"

Draco rolled his eyes - she had killed his divulgatory mood. "So many reasons, Granger. You're smart, why don't you think of them." He pulled her up, thinking of ways that he could carry her without using as much energy. She could always piggy back, but who knew if she decided to strangle him?

"I hate you," she said, letting him scoop her up.

"I know," he responded, smirking.

* * *

Harry Potter ran his hands through his hair. "Are you sure?"

Neville nodded, rubbing the bruise on his arm. "They checked the entire city. And... they found this, along with the body of the Death Eater Krokesh." He took out a piece of a broken wand. It had vines crawling up the side in an intricate design carved into the wood... Hermione's wand.

They looked at each other, not even responding as Ron stormed into the room. He looked positively rabid, his hair sitting like a straw hat on his head and his eyes so bloodshot they blended into the color of his reddened skin.

He looked from Harry to Neville, and then at the half-wand in Neville's hand. The strangest look came over his face. "NO!"

Harry shook his head and went to his friend. "We don't know anything yet. We think she got away. What was the last spell Krokesh's wand used?"

Neville shuffled his feet and looked away. "_Noctulus._"

Harry paled.

* * *

_She had never been so afraid, so helpless. Her entire body was suddenly on fire as a spell hit her in the back; she gasped and gripped at the corner of a rough wall to throw herself behind it. The spell was literally eating her remaining energy and strength; she could feel it all draining away as if she were a colander allowing steaming water to drain from her very soul. How long had she been running through endless suburbs, dodging bright and angry hexes, and putting at least a mile between herself and her street?_

_She wished she had stayed in London with her friends, because if they were with her now, this would not be happening. She'd still have a wand, and she'd have her two best friends at her side, helping her defeat the evil that was five steps behind her now. Instead of going to Edinburgh to see the sights, muggle and magical, she should have been with the Order, or at least not have scoffed at their offering of protection over her trip._

_The Death Eaters had managed to pick a perfect time to strike her, taking her wand with a quick Disarming Charm and smashing it under their feet._

_She was surprised that they did not simply kill her - every spell they used could have been considered mild compared to what she knew they were capable of. If they were not looking to kill her, or at least seriously injure her rather than just slow her down, they were looking to capture her, and she would rather they kill her in the street than take her prisoner._

_Let her body rot in the sewer. She would never risk selling out her friends._

_She held onto this shred of courage as she panted, and the streetlamp next to her began to darken._

Having not found a suitable place to sleep, they had to make do with a large hallowed out tree and leaves, both of which were cold and damp. She was shivering like mad, the sounds of the night seeming sharper against the wind.

"Malfoy?" she whispered.

"What?" he snapped, causing her to jump.

Hermione closed her eyes. "I didn't know where you were."

Draco scoffed. "What does that matter? You should want to get away from me anyway."

Hermione shook her head, shifting her weight to get more comfortable. She _did_ want to get away from him, but something about being alone in absolute darkness really got to her. It didn't matter that she hated him - she didn't want to be alone again until she could handle it. "It matters."

He looked over at her for a second, and then back up at the sky. "Some people actually like to sleep, mudblood."

Hermione furrowed her brows, ignoring the insult. "I was just thinking that we should work together."

"Yeah, because a girl with no wand and no eyesight could be a big help," he responded shortly.

She narrowed her eyes, knowing that his sarcasm was hiding something. "I still have my brain. I could help us."

"Just be quiet and sleep, alright?"

Hermione exhaled, trying not to be disappointed. The more control she had over the situation, the more chances she would have to make it out of it alive. He was right, of course - she was more of a burden without a wand and without vision. But when they put their minds together, they could find a place to run, find a place to stay until it was safe to be out in the open again.

Unfortunately, this could only work if they could stand to be around each other enough to formulate a better plan.

"If you really want to keep me from the Death Eaters, you should just take me to the Order."

"We are both enemies of the Dark Lord's followers, Granger. But only I am an enemy of both sides. I'm not turning myself in just to save _you_."

"Right, because you are too selfish for something like that."

"Turning myself in would be stupidity."

"Would you at least let me send an owl to Ron and Harry? There are plenty of owls around here."

Draco looked over at her incredulously. "And lead them over here? I don't think so."

Hermione piped down, defeated. So she wasn't a prisoner? Fat chance. "I just want to let them know that I'm alive," she said quietly.

"So what? So they don't storm the Death Eater's headquarters looking for you? As if they even knew where it was."

Her hands clenched into fists. What right did he have to make judgements like that? He had no idea how hard it was to get information about of them, and to discern things out of almost nothing. "We're working on that."

He scoffed. "I know where it is. I escaped from there."

"Really?" A smirk crept into her irritated expression. "That's all you're good at then - escaping."

She gasped as something hard hit her in the leg.

"I'm not one of your little mates, girlie. I don't _care_ if you're scared or if you want something. I'm on a mission, and that's all I care about. So if you don't want me to leave you here in the dark, you'd best shut your trap."

Hermione hugged her legs to her chest, renewing her desire to escape. Screw not being alone - she needed to get away from him; she needed a support system during a time like this, not an idiot prat bent on making her life even more miserable than it needed to be. All he was showing her was that not even something like running from Voldemort's followers could unite them in a cause.

_As soon as we reach a village, I am running from him._

"Why are you so awful?"

Draco rolled his eyes.


	4. Hiding in Plain Sight

_"I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself,  
__A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough  
__Without ever having felt sorry for itself."_ _- D.H. Lawrence_

**Chapter Four: Hiding in Plain Sight**

Hermione was silent for most of the next day, not feeling the need to speak to him. They were getting close to a village; the trees were thinning out and there were farms somewhere off to their right, filling the air with the dull roar of farming equipment.

"Stay right here," Draco muttered, setting Hermione down, "I'll be back in a second." He was carrying that tone again, that defeated, depressed and quiet tone.

As she heard him move away, Hermione felt the ground underneath her. It was grassy, not like the crunching and squishing of the woods behind them. Could she escape now? It depended on how long he was going to take. If she screamed for help, would anyone hear her? And if someone did hear her, were they going to be the right people?

She got up slowly and then took off as fast as she could, trusting her remaining senses to help her avoid trees. After only half a minute, she crashed to the ground, having tripped over a fallen tree trunk. She cried silently.

_I'm never getting away from him._

"I told you to stay, mudblood!" Draco fumed when he found her, tossing something heavy on the ground next to her. "I had to get something." He rummaged through the duffel bag, pulling out a small jar and a pair of sunglasses. "Put these on." He handed them to her.

"What do I need these for?" she asked, turning them over in her hands.

"We're staying the night in this village. I can't have you looking like an insect - it attracts attention." He unscrewed the jar and fished in his pocket for the panacea sap, putting it, leaf and all, into the jar and screwing on the lid.

Hermione snorted, wiping her face on her sleeve, trying to remove any dirt that was there. "I look like a ghoul anyway."

"Well, I can't help your ugliness, can I, Granger? We'll get proper showers soon." Hermione ignored his putdown, as she was getting used to doing already.

Walking to the village was not as conspicuous an affair as Draco had originally thought it would be. The sun was shining, which made Hermione's sunglasses not so out of place, and his tight grip on her arm kept her walking in the correct direction. He couldn't help that she had a way of looking a little bit too high up than was necessary, so some people could suspect that she was either extremely pompous or extremely blind. If those people suspected the latter, they did not comment.

Hopefully, the Death Eaters had no spies in the village on the lookout for them, because that would be bad news for both of them.

It was a little too early to check into an inn, but he did so anyway.

"Where are we?" she asked after he had opened the door to a room.

"We're in a town called Shandwick. I stayed here for a while before going to Edinburgh." Hermione nodded, grateful that he had divulged this information. "I call shower first. Don't even _think_ about leaving."

He pushed her lightly into a chair, and she immediately snuggled into the cushions, ignoring the stiff fabric and the chair's groan of protest. Was he insane for actually putting them in a village, where anyone could see them or the Death Eaters could find them? He had stayed off the road before, but now he was putting them potentially in the view of their enemies.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, not trying particularly hard to make him hear her.

"Stop it with the questions," he called over the running water.

"Do you have money?"

"I said shut it."

He was known for his wealth, but she had no idea how much he had. He'd managed to put them in an inn, so he must have had enough to throw away at something like that. She sincerely hoped that he was stupid enough to charge it directly to his account at Gringotts - the Ministry could know his location instantly, and he'd be caught in the blink of an eye.

Her blindness was an issue as well, and if there was a way to cure it, they needed to know that cure so she wasn't such a burden. Whether or not he would do that for her remained to be seen; there was still the possibility that he was one of the Death Eaters still and would have rather her be blind and wandless to make it easier for his bunch to detain her later.

She got up, letting her hands do the seeing for her. She was beginning to overcome the fear of the constant darkness she saw; she was now more frightened of her own movements, as she had not realized before how quick they were. She sometimes had to remind herself that she was still alive and that there was still a world going on around her; often times, everything felt like a movie with nothing but audio. It took all of her energy to piece together sounds and single out certain things.

"Your turn," he said flatly, tugging on her arm.

When he released her, she hugged her arms to her body, shrinking away from his presence as the water started up again. His eyes assessed her afterwards, and she could almost hear him bristle with anger at her sudden nervousness.

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger. That is the farthest thing from my mind right now," he said lowly, insulted by how vile she really thought he was.

Hermione ducked away and felt along the edge of the bathroom - cool, wet tiles lined the walls. She rested her hands on them as the sound of the running shower became deafening, and she was pushed forward.

"I'll be around," he said, shoving a towel into her arms. "Take your time - you smell."

Hermione narrowed her eyes in his general direction and started to remove her shirt.

* * *

"We've got them."

His master did not move, nor did she give any inclination that she heard him. He continued uncertainly.

"They're staying in Shandwick at the town inn. Both of them."

"Arrange some forces then. I want them brought here within the hour."

He stared at her blankly, wondering at the brutality of this task. A ripple of pain shot through him.

"_Now_, if you please," she said darkly.

* * *

On the other side, Ronald Weasley sat thinking, something that he had not wanted to do ever since he received the news. Her attempted kidnapping and now disappearance was devastating timing, considering that they had barely gotten really into their relationship. They had just gotten their lives back on track. Now they had more trouble to deal with, more stress and pain to work through...

... and a very valuable member of their team was missing, someone the two of them could not live without.

"Where's Harry?" he asked his sister quietly. He needed to talk to his best friend more than ever.

Ginny shook her head, wiping drying tears from her face. "He's gone village hopping."

Ron looked over at Kingsley, who had answered for his bawling sister. It was typical of them - Harry was always the first one to spring into action, while Ron sat dealing with his emotions. He nodded, hoping that Harry was finding something out. He could feel the itch that he got when the three of them went on some sort of adventure; it had been so long since they had gone sneaking around, puzzling things out, breaking the rules.

It was time.

* * *

Hermione felt her way over to the shower, her hands outstretched to feel the consistency of the air get thicker as she neared the hot water. She had discarded her jeans, shirt, and sandals on the floor, not caring enough to find a suitable surface to drape them over. She was too eager for her shower.

She got in, still wearing her underwear, and let the hot water burn through the grime and the dead skin. She relaxed her shoulders and turned around, feeling the water change directions and spray against her back.

The darkness that she saw constantly made everything around her exactly the same, and yet so completely different. She wondered at this, contemplating how everything around her was a large black hole, and yet was composed of all kinds of different textures, consistencies, and viscosities. She could feel changes in the very air that she would not have been able to feel otherwise; sensations like the inkling of clandestine eyes watching her became more acute and more recognizable. She could feel the air shift around her more, feel the magic in her skin reach out to test everything.

She felt around the shower now, looking for something to wash herself with. Her hands grazed something wrapped in paper, and she took up the bar of soap gleefully, ripping off the wrapper with shaking fingers. Oh, glorious cleanliness! She lathered her arms.

* * *

Draco thanked the storekeeper and left the shop, looking at his new wand. He gave a little flick and levitated a nearby rock.

They now had magic on their side. He put it in his pocket, walking back to the inn with his new items.

Once inside their room, he pulled out a pair of jeans, a green button up shirt, and a beige jacket, hoping all of these things fit Hermione - he had gotten them for her, as they didn't have time for cleaning and drying her old clothes. The bathroom door was open - he went inside without hesitation.

"Hey!" Hermione said, hearing him coming.

"I can't even see you, so shut it. I'm just putting some clean clothes out."

Hermione stopped cowering in the corner of the shower. "You... what?"

"You're not deaf too, I hope. There are clean clothes right here. Just get dressed." He left with that.

Hermione took off her underwear and wrung it out, thinking about this. He'd actually gotten her clean clothes? What was he on about? Surely he did not want to waste his money - however abundant it was - on someone like her. He must have been doing it for appearances - no girl travelling with him was going to look like a homeless.

She stepped away from the water, not bothering to figure out how to turn it off, and felt around for the towel she had dumped on the floor. She dried herself, wondering what clothes he had gotten for her. Hopefully they were something practical.

Draco stopped organizing the bag as something entered his consciousness.

Oh no. Someone was trying to rummage around in his brain.

They were coming for them.

Draco threw everything on the bed into his bag and stormed into the bathroom, catching Hermione just as she buttoned up the pair of jeans he'd layed out for her.

"We have to leave, now," he said, ignoring her shriek and gathering up her clothes; her hands flew out to cover her bare chest, but he wasn't looking. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her through the door, and then went to collect some of the toiletries from the bathroom, leaving Hermione shivering and shirtless in the room.

"What - "

She was interrupted by an explosion behind her, and was promptly hit in the back of the head with a piece of wood, followed by a blast of air and a thousand tiny shards against her bare back. She whipped around to face the source, only to remember that her eyes were not shut.

"_Petrif - _"

Draco burst back into the room, wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist, and disapparated.


	5. Disaster and Revenge

_"It is only blood that can wash away such an outrage; die or kill." - Pierre Corneille_

**Chapter Five: Disaster and Revenge**

It was almost dusk, and they were moving once again, Hermione in his arms. He could tell she was cold but he could not pause to let her don a shirt or jacket. She instead hugged the bag to her chest.

"This is so bizarre," she whispered, closing her eyes and trying not to think.

She was half naked, being carried off by Draco Malfoy.

Draco said nothing as he dissapparated them again.

By nightfall, he slowed down. They'd gotten nearly to the northern tip of England, and it was becoming harder for them to avoid roads and towns, which they'd avoided by something like luck before. He was tired of carrying her - she was becoming heavier and heavier, and his arms, back, shoulders, and legs were burning. Finally, he set her down in a small alcove on the side of a rocky hill, and collapsed on the rocks next to her, sliding down a bit but not seeming to notice.

Hermione immediately felt her way into the bag and pulled out a shirt. She struggled into it quickly, nearly ripping the seams in her haste.

"Draco?" she asked, turning her head in different directions.

"I'm here, barely," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"You have a wand?"

He nodded, knowing that she couldn't see the gesture, and not caring at the moment.

"Hello?"

Did she have a death wish or something? "_Yes_. Leave me alone."

There was no way he could have known that Hermione would be full of questions all the time, wanting to know about every little thing happening around them. He had known that she was likely to be annoying, but he had figured he could combat that by being cold and unhelpful. There was now no denying her dependency on him - he was only used to caring for himself, having never needed to really care about or for anyone else. Hermione had become something like a child - incapable of doing a lot of things by herself and unable to let go of the person who provided the things that she couldn't.

He needed to find a way to make her a little more independent in her unfortunate situation. But for now, he needed to rest.

"Are they gone?"

"Yes, for now." He paused. "We need to leave the country."

Hermione was immediately skeptical. "What would that do? Where could we go? - "

"Norway is the closest thing right now, right across the water. From there, I'll figure something out."

"How are we getting - "

"Oh, I don't know, Granger. Why don't you think of something?" he said shortly, grabbing the bag next to her and pulling it under his head. It was a clear conversation ender.

* * *

_As she turned the corner, cold fear washed over her and she skidded to a halt, her lungs bursting._

_Draco Malfoy was right there, standing a few yards away... looking simply murderous. He was out for her blood, her dirty, filthy mud-blood... and from the look in his eyes, she knew that there was nothing she could do to stop him._

_As she swayed on the spot, losing hope, her throat burning, her legs quivering, and all her strength gone, she felt a spell hit her on the back of the head, and the world went dark. "I'm dead!" she whispered in surprise, before covering her mouth._

_The one thing that she needed, the one sense that could help her out of this situation had disappeared. Her now black eyes formed tears as she wrapped her arms around herself; the boy she knew from school with platinum hair and a cold heart was standing directly in front of her, heat radiating off his body._

_"Look out!" he yelled forcefully, attempting to move her aside to face the Death Eaters behind her. She whipped around and smacked into the wall._

Hermione sat up with a start, gasping; something hard had fallen on her. She felt around desperately, and sighed in relief and a twinge of irritation as she realized that Draco had hit her with the duffel.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck, knowing that between carrying Hermione, running from Death Eaters, and arguing with her, he had managed to put himself under a lot of physical stress. If he was going to succeed in keeping her from the Death Eaters, it was very important that he was in impeccable physical condition. Unfortunately, Hermione made this quite a bit harder, since she was still too weak to keep up with him and would likely stumble and run into trees if he wasn't watching where she was walking.

"Get up, you wimp," she said coarsely, shoving the duffel back at him. "I hurt all over too."

He shook his head. What he was experiencing was muscle soreness - in what seemed like every muscle in his body. "Do you think I care if _you_ hurt? You aren't the one who has to carry a giant blind _baby_ around."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She didn't like being called a baby. "Fine. Be seeing you!" She moved away from him. Draco was having none of that; Hermione had not gotten two steps away before his hand enclosed around her leg and she fell to the ground kicking. She managed to kick him in the neck, which was unbelievably painful, and he choked for a few seconds. He responded by tying her foot to a tree using the strap of the bag.

"Fucking mudblood, as if I don't hurt enough!" he rasped.

"You shouldn't have done that to me!"

"I can do whatever I _want_ to you. You're as blind as a rock, and you're in no position to be ordering me around."

"What a big man _you_ are, picking on me when I'm blind!"

He scoffed. She was already starting to hide behind the defense of her lack of eyesight when it was convenient for her. "Don't even _pretend _to be defenseless, Granger. I know you've got the gears turning in your head. Remember that your thoughts are not safe around me." This was just a threat of course; he couldn't actually go into her head without her realizing it. Fear of this, however, was a factor he needed to control her. If they separated, they had a better chance of getting caught than if they stayed together. He needed her to know that her escape opportunities would be very limited, and he would know when she was plotting.

He looked around the area where they were, spotting a stick next to the tree she was tied to and snatching it up. A walking stick could help her - blind people usually carried sticks whether they had charms to help them avoid objects or not. The two of them did not have any charms at their disposal, nor did he know any spells that would help her. He couldn't perform a countercurse for the blindness curse the Death Eaters Krokesh and Rubinoff had used on her - a lot of the spells that he'd been taught as a Death Eater did not have countercurses, and he was not taught very many of the countercurses for the ones that did have them.

In the meantime, while his muscles healed, he needed something to do. Draco reached into the open bag and pulled out the jar of panacea sap, followed by the wand from his back pocket. He retrieved a pocket knife from his other pocket.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked quietly, getting comfortable - or as comfortable as she could with her foot bound the way it was.

"Shut it," he muttered, taking out a bottle of water and opening the lid. He coaxed some panacea sap into it. "It's a good thing I got food before I came back to the room. I was going to wait until later and get some sleep first." He'd been exhausted when they'd arrived at the room.

"Food" was the only word Hermione heard out of that. "Where?" she said, feeling around for the bag.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You don't see me rushing after it, and I haven't eaten in days either - "

"Yeah, well you're used to it. I'm not."

Draco turned to look at her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Hermione's face brightened as her hands enclosed around something that felt like bread. She tore into it. "Don't they starve you?"

"Who?" She wasn't making any sense now that she had food in her hands.

She gulped down what was in her mouth. "The Death Eaters. They starve you."

Draco didn't answer. Her statement had some truth; Death Eaters were trained to withstand the worst of conditions. Some of them were better at it than others - he happened to be better at it. Most of it was mind over matter - personal strength combined with physical strength. The new leadership of the Death Eaters had really whipped them into shape. As soon as that woman had taken over, the other side was doomed. While the leadership of the Dark Lord had made the Death Eaters accustomed to luxury, Master had immediately remedied that. She had laid out a new purpose immediately, setting them on rigorous training. The ones who couldn't sit with this rejoined their families and left the Death Eaters, though the ones who didn't get out immediately didn't get off so easy.

He shook up his new drink and took a sip - the sap made the water surprisingly sweet. He hoped it would speed up his healing process - he didn't know how panacea sap worked, but it surely wouldn't work as well or as quickly as phoenix tears, which were known to correct internal injuries almost instantly by ingestion.

After taking another sip, he took up the stick, tested out its durability, and began carving away the bark on it.

* * *

_Ron,_

_I found a lead. Someone destroyed a room at an inn in Shandwick - a room where a man with blond hair and a woman with brown hair and sunglasses were staying. The innkeeper's description of the woman sounded like Hermione, but I have no idea who the other guy was. He could possibly be the new Death Eater called Angelface._

_We did not catch the Death Eaters that stormed the place, but the Ministry has ordered some specialists over here, who will be questioning the innkeeper and having him confirm the identities of the room's occupants. Also, the article they told us about will be in tomorrow's _Prophet_, along with this._

_Harry_

* * *

Hermione took the hair tie from around her wrist and tied it around her new french braid. The braid was probably a mess, but she couldn't see it enough to fix it to perfection. She felt along her head, tucking in loose pieces of hair and tightening the end. "I know how to get to Norway."

Draco didn't look up from his carving; he was making small, smooth cuts into the stick, carving off little oval-shaped chips. Hermione shook her head. "Well, if you don't want to hear it - "

"Humor me," he muttered, still carving.

She had to push down the urge to strangle him before she could respond. "We should take a boat. A muggle one."

Draco rolled his eyes. "There's no way I'm getting in a boat manned by a muggle, Granger."

"Not like a rickety canoe, you dolt. I mean a real boat."

"I'm not getting in a boat sailed by a muggle. They don't know _how_ to sail."

Hermione's cheeks reddened in anger. What kind of assumption was that? "Of course they do! They do it all the time, they've been doing it for centuries!"

"A boat is too slow."

"But there's no way the Death Eaters are going to get us if we are in the middle of the North Sea."

He shrugged, not willing to recognize that this made sense. "How are we getting a boat?"

"We hire a captain, of course."

Draco scoffed, and then blew on his work to get rid of the shavings. She made this sound easier than it was. They were not likely to find any muggle willing to have them aboard their boat, especially since the two of them looked suspicious and dingy. "And what _captain_ would take us to Norway?"

"Any captain that wants some money."

"I don't have piles of cash at my disposal Granger. I have the money I drew out the last time I visited Gringotts, which was a month ago. That's it. Stop spending it for me - you're in no position to do that."

"How much do you have?"

"I don't know. At least fifty galleons."

That was enough to keep them alive for at least a month, if they kept living in the forests in England. It was not, however, enough to get them on a boat to Norway and then supplies while they were there.

"It's still a possibility," she said quietly after a minute.

"I'd rather swim," he muttered, tired of the sound of her voice. It was taking on that shrill quality it had when he'd known her back in school.

"If we had gone west, we could have gone to Ireland."

"There are too many cities to the west, too many places to be seen in."

"And there aren't to the north?"

Draco looked up at the sky and breathed in and out, forcing himself to calm down before he sent a nasty hex in her direction. Was complaining the only thing she knew how to do? "There are enough foresty areas to get lost in to the north. I don't know about the west. Don't you even say south - there are bunches of forests, but we'd be boxed in between Edinburgh and all the major cities down there like Liverpool, Newcastle, Manchester, London... that says enough."

"It would be easier to get lost in a big city."

"Not the ones in England. They've got every city webbed out with traitors and watchmen." This was of course an exaggeration - not even the Ministry had the power to do that. But the difference between the Death Eaters and the Ministry was that the Death Eaters were willing to break every law of fairness and morality to catch who they wanted.

Hermione sat back against her tree, playing with the end of her braid, feeling around for little knots and pulling off her split ends. "Are you still a Death Eater?"

"_Merlin_, woman. Shut it. I'm not one of your mates."

"Any person would be mad to be mates with you."

"I'm warning you, Granger," he said without conviction. Keeping her in line was tiring. He went back to concentrating on the stick, noting that it was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. Something about carving short slivers of wood off of a branch with a knife was calming - perhaps it was the knife part. It was good for controlling a temper.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I don't have to answer your question!"

"I would like an answer."

"_I would like you to go fuck yourself!_"

Hermione did not like that at all, so she stayed silent. Her unintentional attempt to annoy him had definitely succeeded.

Draco's stress and muscle soreness wore off by later in the day, around the same time he had finished carving up the stick. Besides a slight twist at the top of it, it was fairly straight. He'd carved it all the way to the bottom, and it had gone from a dusty brown to a creamy off-white. It was a work of art that he was quite proud of, actually - it was a shame that he'd have to give it to her.

"Here," he put forth, shoving the end of it into her hands and untying her foot from the tree. Hermione ran her fingers over the new item, feeling the tiny little hills and valleys he'd made in it, making it smooth yet bumpy.

"It's beautiful," she said, despite her condition. She twirled it like a top.

"I know," he said, reattaching the strap to his bag and fishing out some bread for himself. "When this is all over, I want it back." Who knew he'd discover something that he liked to do while he was a fugitive with Hermione Granger?

* * *

"I just thought of something."

Draco looked at the sky, and then over at Hermione, wondering what she was about to spew forth this time. He'd had more than enough of her ideas. "What is it now?"

"What about border security? They aren't just going to let us waltz into their country."

"You speak of countries as if they are clubs guarded by dozens of bouncers - we _will_ get in."

Hermione turned her head in his direction. "I want to enter a country legally."

"We don't have time for that." Draco moved a stick that was in her path with his foot. To himself, he said, "I need a map."

Hermione shook her head, letting the stick in her hands trail through the foliage in front of her. "Why did you kidnap me?"

He knew it was only a matter of time before this question came up again and he would be in a position to answer it. She had asked him many times, but he had given her no details. "The Death Eaters have some big plan that involves you. By capturing you, getting information out of you, and then imperiousing you to destroy the Order of the Phoenix and the Department of International Magical Cooperation from the inside, they can kill so many goblins with one spell."

Hermione hated that expression. It was typical of a pureblood to use phrases like that. "What makes them think that they are getting information out of _me?_"

"Because _everyone _talks. Everyone. They will make you talk, whether it be through a liter of Veritaserum or legilimency, or the Cruciatus curse until you are paralyzed... you _will _talk. And they figure since you are so close to Potter, you would be in on all the big secrets and plans he would have. Also..." Draco moved a branch out of his way. "They want to discredit Potter and all muggleborns. Remember, Granger, nothing has changed yet. It will take a lot of time before the Death Eaters no longer have control of the Ministry and the wizarding world."

Hermione knew this - the _Daily Prophet_ and general talk among other things had deeply corrupted public opinion. She was the one working on that bit of the Order's "recovery" plan - she was to preach acceptance and oversee the changing in the ideas of the magical community. Though she had no real authority over such things, she kept a close eye on it so everyone else could get things moving. In the meantime, she was working at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, writing reports based on observations from all over the world.

"What a disaster," she whispered, stumbling.

They were very famished, very tired, and very dirty by the time they reached the next wizard village that looked quiet and innocent enough to supply in.

"I still think we'd be better off in a city," Hermione grumbled, letting him lead her a little forcefully down a sidewalk.

"There are only muggle cities up here, Granger," he said, looking around them with narrowed eyes. "The Death Eaters have their hands thoroughly entwined in those. They are least likely to have traitors in small villages like these."

"They found us last time," she said, turning her head in his direction and pushing the sunglasses up on her nose. It was overcast yet bright, so her sunglasses looked like fashion more than function.

Draco shook his head as they went into a little shop, ignoring her quip. Since it was a wizard owned store, he didn't dare try to nick anything, but when they next hit a muggle port city, he would be taking full advantage of the muggle lack of technology.

Once they'd left with some food, Hermione snacking on an apple, they continued walking. "You didn't answer my question."

The "we" in her statement, "we'd be better off" was bugging him. "So?"

Hermione ignored his cheekiness. "Why did you kidnap me?"

Draco looked around them again, noting the people on the street and looking for the familiar sensations of having his mind probed. "Revenge," he said, looking forward.


	6. Toxic Tides

_"A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself." - Jim Morrison_

**Chapter Six: Toxic Tides**

"I find it very difficult to believe that you sent _seven men_ to capture them and they came back with nothing but splinters in their eyes. Have you lot learned _nothing?_"

Rubinoff looked at his feet. He was disappointing her again.

"What have we learned here?" She tilted his chin up with the tip of her wand.

He shook his head, desperately searching for something to say. He was shaking again.

"We have learned never to underestimate the enemy," she answered for him quietly. "I expect you to be looking for them. You can kill the Malfoy boy if he is too much trouble, but other than that, I want them both brought back here _alive and well_. I have business of my own to attend to in the meantime."

As much as he feared his master, he loved her as well, much more than Lord Voldemort, because even though she ruled them, even though they listened to her every word and would give their lives at a flick of her finger, she was one of them. She did not sit back and let her servants take care of the work for her - she got right into the cause and worked just as hard as they did.

If she didn't, a lot of them would definitely have cause to be disgruntled.

She cared about every single one of them, even the lower ranking and newer forces. They knew that their lives were disposable, but she let them know that she would never let them go into a mission without being prepared enough to make it out alive. She was not that cruel.

Her cleverness had brought them together in such a short time. She was absolute gold.

* * *

Hermione had been gone for almost two weeks now.

Harry Potter looked at the two pictures in front of him, willing his heart to calm its racing. It was a smiling picture of Hermione, a book in her lap, a quill tucked behind one ear... and a tiny school portrait of Draco Malfoy, smile-less, heartless, cold.

The innkeeper had confirmed both. He'd described the relationship between them as "young lovers."

Harry cringed, wondering how Malfoy had imperioused Hermione into complying with _that_ atrociousness.

The glossiness of the photo was rubbing off, and there were fingerprints all over it. He'd sat staring at it for quite a long time, twisting it in his fingers, removing the quill from behind her ear and watching the little picture laugh and put it back.

Why did these things always happen to them? He'd saved Malfoy's life. Certainly that was cause enough to leave them alone.

But nothing made sense.

Intelligence from the other side had told them that Malfoy was supposedly locked away for doubt in his loyalties until they could decide what to do with him. And then, the Death Eaters had been in uproar trying to locate him when he'd escaped.

And suddenly, he'd run off with Hermione Granger, leaving a dead Krokesh behind him with a broken neck - which implied that Malfoy did _not_ have a wand.

To top it off, there was a good chance that one of them - Malfoy or Hermione - was blind. And it was probably Hermione, considering the sunglasses that the innkeeper had described as well as the slight dizziness she seemed to possess. Nothing connected, as there were so many unanswered questions.

Why had Malfoy killed a Death Eater and then captured Hermione? What did he want with her? What did the Death Eaters want with her, if anything? Their new leadership - a woman with no name - was much better at keeping secrets than the Dark Lord had been. The Death Eaters had suddenly become a tightly formed group.

She'd dragon-whipped them into shape.

"I'll be fighting for you for the rest of my life," Harry whispered. "I'll never let them have you." The little Hermione in the photo suddenly became serious. She nodded.

* * *

When she wasn't having nightmares of that night, her dreams were more vivid than she had ever remembered. It seemed like they wanted to make up for her lack of vision and show her everything. By closing her eyes, she could see again.

She loathed the time when she would be sucked back into the darkness of being awake.

Unfortunately, Draco was one of those people that woke up extremely early to work on things. She had been one of those people for the longest time... but now, nothing could convince her to pull herself out of the contentedness of her dreams. She had always seen sleep as a waste of time - now it was her favorite time.

"My, you are lazy for such a bookworm," Draco said from above her. She opened one crusty eye to glare at his voice.

"I'm over here," he said, now from behind her. "We need to do something about your stupid eyes."

Hermione sat up slowly, her good mood and good dream destroyed. "And what cosmetic spells would you know?"

"My good looks and charm _need_ no cosmetic spells, if that's what you're saying... but I do know some."

Hermione rolled her eyes. He was a smirking prat down to his core, after all. No situation could change that.

"Besides, cosmetic spells can't mix with dark spells. Your eyes are stuck like that - I was talking about when we are walking around. You can't carry yourself like you are blind - it attracts attention."

"I can't help that."

Draco sat up on his bed, fishing his wand out of his shirt. He kept it there because he knew it was the one place Hermione would rather swallow a Blast-Ended Skrewt than touch voluntarily. Just in case she decided to get bold, he needed to keep track of that wand. He transfigured a note from a pad of parchment on the bedside table into a watch. "Just try to look straight ahead. Don't tilt your head up, because we aren't stopping to look at a cloud. Try to walk with purpose."

Hermione furrowed her brows. Was he actually giving her advice? And useful advice, at that?

Draco looked around the room, finally seeing a folded map of northern England, magical parts included. England was a lot bigger than the muggles thought - it had the potential to be the size of Spain. How the wizarding world managed to fit all this land into the small island would be a mystery to any muggle - but after muggles and wizards could no longer coexist, the wizards had found a way to hide themselves.

Draco thought that it was a little shameful that such a great race of people were hiding away, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"And you said I couldn't get a map until we were out of wizard territory," he scoffed, opening it and looking for the nearest port city. "It looks like you were _wrong_."

She _hated_ that condescending tone. "Well, you couldn't get a map until we were out of the woods anyways. Where are we?"

Draco shrugged. "No idea. I have never gone this far north in England before." It was amazing how one could live in a country for their entire lives and still not see it in its entirety, especially one who had money at their disposal that could be used for traveling. Hermione knew that he had probably been everywhere - China, Japan, India, America, Mexico... and all kinds of islands like Jamaica. That annoyed her. He had probably looked Mona Lisa dead in her eyes and had been bored out of his mind. _She_ could appreciate it.

"Which port city are we closest to?"

He shrugged again. "Bunches."

"Well, pick one then."

Draco shot her a look. "I'd _appreciate_ your silence. This takes thought."

Hermione ran her hands over her braid, detecting frizz, and started to undo it. "We could go to the Orkney Islands, getting off in Burwick - "

"_I'm_ the one with the bloody map, _I'm_ the one with the eyesight, and _I'm_ the one in charge. Bugger off for a bit."

_If I was stronger, I could escape all of this_.

* * *

They were in the forests once again, the trees becoming greener and fuller as the magical forest thickened. Draco was no longer carrying her, having a wand and seeing no need to apparate them. Instead, she was levitating beside him, cross-legged and tired.

Now that they had a map on their side, navigating and avoiding towns became easier. They'd gotten boxed in once, which had forced them to walk from one side of a town to the other, but besides that they were doing surprisingly well.

Now that Hermione had gotten over the initial shock of her situation, she was once again retreating into her old self, ignoring him just like she had done in school. She couldn't glare at him like she wanted to, but she made sure to be as short with him as possible.

As he had expected, and as he had hoped.

It was raining, and the trees did not completely shield them, so as a result, both of them were wet to the bone and cold, despite it being daylight. Draco cast a quick warming spell over himself, picking a bowtruckle off of his arm and flinging it into a nearby bush.

"Hey," Hermione said, her arms crossed.

"'Hey' nothing. You get to suffer." He was feeling particularly mean - she was the cause of his discomfort. He did not like anyone making him uncomfortable. A lot of times though, he didn't get mad - he got even.

And it was actually _that_ thinking that had put him in this situation to begin with.

By the next day, Hermione had developed a cough.

"Shut it," he mumbled, irritated, after a stream of five sneezes.

"Maybe if you weren't such a _dickhead_, I wouldn't be sneezing."

All the little things- the way her voice curved around dirty words to try to project them when he knew that she wasn't comfortable with saying them; the way she was bent on pointing out every flaw that he had when he could shout a million things back at her; he way she huffed in annoyance every once in a while to remind him that she was still there_._ This "my way or the highway," crap was really getting to him. He was reminded all over again why he hated her.

In school, he hadn't really needed to deal with her in more than small doses - class, lunch, prefects meetings. Dealing with her full time was overkill.

This was his mission. _She_ needed to piss off.

"Where are we _going__?_"

"Merlin's knickers, if you don't shut your hole," he warned.

They suddenly came upon a clearing with a small, glittering lake in the center of it. Draco checked the map again. They were walking a bit northwest... yes, there was a little body of water speck right there. On the map the magical parts were in color while the muggle parts were in black and white... and this was in the magical part of the forest.

Draco put his wand away, and Hermione dropped to the ground, causing a cloud of dust to fill her nose and send her on another sneezing fit.

They did not really need to bathe, but he missed civilized life where he could take two showers a day, taking as long as he pleased. It was going to be a while before they found another perfect opportunity to do so.

Draco reached out and tested the water - it was actually a bit warm.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked thickly, trying to feel the ground.

He took a few calming breaths before he spoke, rolling his aching shoulders. "We're at... the Pond of Dreams."

Hermione's face darkened. "The Pond of Dreams... the magical body of water that induces a dreamless sleep for eternity?"

"No," Draco said, looking at it. "That's the lake in Poland. This one is the one with the healing waters."

"Oh," Hermione said quietly, realizing her mistake. Draco Malfoy had actually just corrected her... he was in her class when they had studied that in History of Magic.

"They're easily confusable, remember? Because of the names. It was on our O.W.L. exams..." he trailed off awkwardly.

Hermione nodded, her face blank. School seemed so long ago... she wondered how she had managed to forget History of Magic when Draco had actually remembered it. It made her feel extremely stupid.

"Anyway, I'm having a wash. And so are you." He pulled her up by her arm and pushed her towards the water's edge, covering the strange moment with a clear of his throat. "Now."

Hermione looked in the direction of the sound of his voice, wishing that she could see the expression of his face, or his posture, to tell what he was thinking. When it came to things like bathing or using the toilet, she still could never trust him. She wouldn't put it past him to say something about her body, or worse, make some comment designed to make her uncomfortable.

Draco dropped his bag on the ground and started to remove his shirt. He really didn't appreciate her hesitance _every single time_ they had to do this. He had already told her that he did _not_ care, so what was her problem? His face set in hard lines. "I'm giving you exactly one minute to get undressed and get in the water, or I am throwing you in there fully clothed."

Hermione started to remove her shirt as well, as quickly as she could.

In the meantime, Draco tried to remember what the properties of the pond were. _Healing waters, illegal to drink... but it's there's no Ministry protection on it. And there should be a small waterfall nearby as well._ Draco looked around the clearing, seeing a little bit of white mist behind some trees a little ways away. That must have been the waterfall.

Draco looked up as he heard a splash - Hermione had entered the water.

* * *

"I hope you're not intending to make me wear the same dirty clothes."

Draco rolled his eyes, shirtless and leaning against a tree. "We're running from some of the most dangerous people alive, and you're concerned about wearing dirty clothes? I got over it. You can get over it."

Hermione shook her head, rubbing her arms. She wasn't that concerned - she was just trying to be difficult, she knew. In the meantime, she wanted to brew an escape plan.

But first, she wanted to bathe; the water was actually warm, which was a relief. She stretched her arms, letting her joints crack before rubbing her bare skin, trying to remove the sweat and dirt from the past few days.

Draco put the wand inside of the bag and said, "Time to get out!" Hermione turned in his direction.

"Throw me someth - I mean, wait a second." She got a little closer to the bank, on all fours since the water only came up to her waist, and continued. "Okay, throw me something to cover up in."

Draco rolled his eyes and plucked her jacket from the grassy ground. "Here," he said, holding it in front of her. She felt for it and snatched it up, wrapping it around herself as she got out of the water.

"Stay right here, I'm getting in."

Hermione nodded, holding the jacket closed with one hand and feeling around for a tree with the other. There was a splash behind her as Draco entered the water.

"Ew," he said, looking around at the pristine water, "for such a clean pond it sure does feel like old bathwater." He looked back towards the bank to find that Hermione was not there.

"Fuck!" he cursed, lifting himself onto the bank.

Hermione was running, her hands outstretched in the jacket sleeves, the front open. It was an impulsive plan, but she was doing pretty well despite her blindness - the forest had been thinning out for some time, so there were fewer trees to run into. She heard a splash behind her; Draco was coming for her.

She sped up a bit; Draco ran after her retreating back. It was only a matter of seconds before he was right behind her, and he reached out and pulled her to him without hesitation.

"Did you really think you could escape from me?" he whispered in her ear before scooping her up roughly. Hermione screamed and squirmed as he threw her over his shoulder and marched back toward the pond.

Her bare knees knocked into his chest, which was smooth and dripping with wetness; her bare stomach was painfully bent over his shoulder. She beat her hands against his back and tried to fight his grip on the back of her legs. She tried her elbows, beaning him on his neck and head; he ducked to avoid her blows and tightened his hold on her legs.

"Put me down!" she shrieked, squirming.

Draco rolled his eyes again as he stepped closer to the water's edge, turned around, and dumped her, upside down, into the water. He turned back to see her bare legs sticking out of the surface just before her knees, kicking. He was momentarily reminded of women from old pictures waving their fluttery and lacy skirts about as they danced.

He laughed then, watching her try to right herself and then come up to the surface sputtering and coughing. Hermione stopped flailing around, hearing his laughter, and reached out.

Draco gasped as his foot suddenly left the ground and he splashed into the water as well.

All the anger he had felt for the last few days came rushing back full force, nearly blinding him. "I'M GONNA FUCKING _MASSACRE_ YOU!"

Now Hermione was laughing.

She began pushing heaves of water in his direction, laughing as he countered. Draco was stronger, but Hermione was a better swimmer, eyesight or not. As his hand grazed her foot she darted away quickly.

"I hope you aren't intending to let a _blind girl_ put you in your place!" she shouted through her raged breaths, buttoning up the remaining buttons on her jacket, which was soaked through and clinging heavily to her arms and back.

"You are so dead!" he said determinedly, taking big strides in the waist-deep water. She screamed again and moved away, diving under the surface and jetting in the opposite direction. She reached the other side of the pond quickly, and poked her head just above the surface to try to hear where he was.

"Ha!" he said, grabbing her from behind and swinging her around. She screamed as she went under again. "I got you! That was for pulling me in the water!"

Hermione spit the water out of her mouth and tilted her head to get it out of her ear, noting with a grimace that he was ridiculously rough, tossing her about without any regard to her female frame. She messaged the spot on her stomach that had been pushed into his shoulder. "That's what you got for dumping me in like that!"

"Well, you shouldn't have tried to escape!"

There was silence then as they contemplated the situation and realized that yes, they were naked in a pond, yes, they were just having fun, and no, they were not supposed to be messing around at a time like this. They had murderers after them, murderers who had probably heard the screaming and were now coming for them.

"Come on," Draco said lowly, tugging the collar of her jacket and moving towards their clothes. Hermione sighed and followed.


	7. Human After All

_"A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions." - Oliver Wendell Holmes_

**Chapter Seven: Human After All**

There was dead silence, the type of quiet that came when everything within hearing range held its breath. They were not moving, not daring to shift on the wet leaves. The foliage around them was so dark it appeared black even against the plum color of the night sky peaking through the trees. Draco tried not to imagine kneeling on emptiness.

Someone was there, waiting - Draco could feel the fringes of his mind tingling as the Death Eater spread out his consciousness. He could just barely make out the strangely smooth, black shape against the jagged roughness of the surrounding tree and brush.

His concern, however, was not himself at this point - his concern was Hermione.

As logical as the girl was, she was still a being that fed and lived on emotions, even if she did not realize it. There was little she could do to suppress this, he knew - once a "feeling" person is always a feeling person.

While making him slightly sick to his stomach, it also made him think about his own self. He had learned to repress his emotions; it was probably the one useful thing, besides Occlumency and Legillimency, that Snape had taught him. He'd learned from the best.

Draco slipped silently from behind the brick barrier in his mind to reach out to Hermione's. He had never tried this with someone who wasn't a Death Eater... but he had no other choice.

_:Hermione?:_ he thought softly, hoping that his familiar tone and use of her first name would not scare her out of her skin and thus reveal their position. Next to him, he felt her heart speed up.

She was all nerves. If they were going to make it out with as little... complication... as possible, he needed to play this strategically.

_:Focus on an emotion if you can feel this.:_

Hermione let go of the panic in her heart and focused on her determination. It wafted toward him in waves - it was weak, but was a start.

_:Reach into my pocket for the wand. It is right next to your hand; I can't get to it without brushing these leaves.:_

Hermione hesitated, and he could feel her unease with touching him so as well as her excitement with the prospect of wielding the wand. He bristled as he realized that she could leave him there if she wanted. He was giving her the power in this situation. He detected no devilish intentions from her however. The sincerity of her emotions dazzled him for a few seconds.

Hermione closed two fingertips over the wand shaft and pulled up. As the tip left the edge of the pocket, the pocket made a small ripping noise.

A bolt of angry electricity suddenly shot towards them, and Draco pushed Hermione behind the tree they were up against roughly as he went the other direction.

Draco felt for the wand - Hermione still had it.

"_Sectumsempra!_" she shouted.

The spell hit the Death Eater in the shoulder, slicing the robe and skin open, but the Death Eater wasn't fazed. He sent a silent spell at her, hitting the tree and exploding bark and wood chips in every direction. The tree cracked thunderously and began to fall.

Even Draco was practically blind in the darkness, but he found her surprisingly fast. Before he dissapparated, arms wrapped around her waist and wand in tow, he heard one thing over the noise:

"Fool."

* * *

She was taking the pain rather well, or as well as a girl with bits of wood sticking out of her chest could.

Draco fumbled with the remaining panacea sap, cursing. He should have stopped to treat her sooner! It had been nearly an hour since the attack, and they were in the forests outside a muggle port city. The glittering of lights from the city gave him some "natural light" by which to work; the moon supplied the rest. He reached for the collar of her shirt.

"No!" she panicked, kicking her feet. Whether his intentions were noble or not, she did not want him looking at her there.

Draco held her down by the shoulders, knowing that this probably hurt. Her gasps of pain and further flailing made him push harder.

"Hey... stop... stop it! I'm going to heal you! Stop moving!" She stopped then, tensed up and ready to struggle, only relaxing when he leaned back. "Do you want me to heal you?"

Hermione hesitated, but nodded. It was a little insulting that she _still _didn't trust his magical ability (or his intentions) but he reached again for her collar nonetheless.

There were several large splintered pieces of wood sticking out of her now bloodstained green shirt. He magicked these away the best he could and used the wand to rip her shirt open.

... Wow. Ew.

But mostly wow.

Her white skin reflected the cold, blue glow of the moon and the warm tint of the city, and her dark, black wounds breathed and glistened. He found himself gawking at the sight.

Draco looked up - she was covering her face with her hands.

He cleared his throat and ripped some of her shirt away, noting her cringe at the sudden noise, and fetched the water bottle. He had to look away a moment, forcing himself to become angry with her for not wearing a bra like most _normal_ girls.

There was silence as he cleaned her skin, trying to ignore the small, feminine gasps of pain and rise and fall of her chest. There was something fascinating about it all - the way her skin moved under the wet cloth and the strange intensity of the red when it smeared. He finished slowly, noting that she had uncovered her face and put her head to the side. Her eyes were open.

He finished as quickly as he could after that, smoothing panacea sap into the red blotches and casting a warming spell over her. The panacea sap, he hoped, would harden from the exposure to air and create scabs more quickly. He looked away then to tend to the wood in her leg.

Finally, he finished. Hermione scooted away from him immediately, glad to get some personal space back, and muttered, "Thank you."

"Sure," he said, turning away.

* * *

It seemed as if the world had ended all over again.

Ron sat in his room, as he usually did over the summer away from school, but the bright orange felt nothing like home now.

He hadn't actually realized how much Hermione meant to him, how much he really cared about her until she had gone... how many times did he have to learn this lesson? Ginny. Percy. _Harry._ He was lucky to have these people back.

But...

Fred.

Moody, Tonks, Lupin. Dobby, even.

And now, her.

He couldn't cry, he couldn't release the rock that had become his stomach. He wanted to take every cell in his body and splatter it against a wall, push every emotion he had ever felt through a shredder.

He wanted to scream bloody murder.

_"I know this is difficult for you -"_

"Difficult?" He hadn't known the _meaning_ of the word.

_"- but we have to brave through it and hope for the best. We are all doing what we can._"

Harry, at least, understood how he felt, and understood what it was like to lose so many people he loved in so short a time. Fred's grin still haunted him every time he closed his eyes, and he couldn't look George in the face and see the obvious pain, the clear empty space beside him.

Hermione's loss felt like an empty space beside his own self, a void between him and his best friend. They were a threesome; with one of the three table legs gone, all Harry and Ron could do now was topple over, forever condemned to be imbalanced and hurting from the missing piece.

* * *

"Where did you learn that spell?"

There was a few seconds of silence before she answered. "Professor Snape."

"He never told me that one."

"No one was supposed to know about it."

Draco nodded slowly, continuing to look at the stars.

"It just came out," Hermione continued softly. "It was the first spell that I could think of to deal damage."

"And it was the first one Goody Gryffindor ever used."

"Professor Moody - "

"That's doesn't count, Granger."

She stayed silent, so Draco found himself searching for something to say, something else to ask. His brain was swimming with questions - why hadn't she used the wand to escape by herself? Why hadn't her wounds killed her?

But of all the questions that he could of asked, he asked the thing on the tip of his tongue:

"D-Do you still have that stick?"

"No... I'm sorry,"

* * *

He was _feeling _something. Ew.

He hated everything about feelings - the word, the sound of it, the curdling in his stomach as he listened to someone go on about their emotions... it was all just _gross._

He hated questions as well - the kind of questions that his parents would ask him as he stared at the floor with clenched fists; questions along the lines of, "why do you think you don't change?" and "why do you continue to disappoint?" And as much as he hated feelings and hated feeling, he could feel the stirring in his fingers, and the tightening of his throat... the sudden cramping of his muscles and the blinding headache and the feeling he was submerged in tar...

He hated that weakness, that total submission to his heart. It made him feel inadequate.

He had been bred to hate touchy-feely conversations; he knew that problems could be solved _without_ words. There were times when he could look at someone and know, see the expression on his face and understand... or just hear the very beginning of their sentence, hear the tone they carry, and know the entire argument. But still the person went _on and on and on_ about something he _knew... _it was maddening. So when his parents ignored him, he loved it... and when they scrutinized him, he hated it. Snape had been the one to save him, the one to teach him how to push everything down, make it all evaporate. It had apparently come in great use for Snape... Draco had used it as well for his own purposes.

He wasn't nearly as great at it as Snape, but it worked well enough for his own Occlumency.

But extended periods of time? He couldn't do it. Which led him to his current predicament, where he'd been expressing more emotions than he should have been, anger included.

He _really_ needed to get himself together by 1) reminding himself of what Hermione Granger _really _was and 2) focusing on his mission. Her accompaniment, however planned it was, came with a bit of shock value as he had not thought too much about all that her tagging along would entail, not even mentioning the blindness. He'd predicted that he'd be listening to her raving about how "ignorant" he was and how "smart" she was, or perhaps lecturing him on in depth Arithmancy theory or something... whatever bookworms talk about. Instead, having her around was like having a handicapped sibling that he hated to take care of.

She needed independence not just for herself, but for him as well. Because these things that he was feeling, these emotions like... disgust and protectiveness and fascination and curiosity... they just had to disappear before something terrible happened to him:

He might actually become human again.

And the disgusting thing wasn't something that he'd thought it would be; he should have felt disgusted by _her_. He should have been appalled to touch her... tainted blood, the dark slime that it was. Instead, he was fascinated at the distinct _human_ quality she had... epidermis and blood and emotion, muscles rippling under her blue and yellow skin.

He tried to clear the image from his head, but it just kept coming back, biting at his mind. Yes, it was the first good look he'd gotten of her. No, it was _not _the first time he'd looked, or even seen a girl remotely naked. It was definitely not the first time, but he had grown up in a house where mention of sexuality was used with complex words and unsexy language in its starchiness. This had not been bad enough to leave him scarred, as in, be fazed by the human form in its truest form. Hermione's reaction, however, he could understand somewhat; she looked like the type to turn red at any mention, display, or action that had anything to do with sex. But this did not explain the fascination with her skin that had taken hold, nor the fascination with her blood, or how he'd basically turned a simple healing into an ogle-fest.

The memory of her skin, white-blue in the light of the moon, tinged yellow from the light of the city, with black, gritty holes caked with blood clumped together like mold... it was the visual representation, the perfect metaphor of the alien and dirty quality that her "kind" supposedly had. And yet with _his_ touch, that black gritty blood had turned bright red and begun to flow again. It was like he was one to purify her.

* * *

Hermione had been trying so hard to think of a way to escape that she had only just started contemplating Draco Malfoy's actions, and there were things she didn't want to remember - like him seeing her _breasts_ a total of _three bloody times_, as well as him witnessing her use of a dark spell. She was actually surprised that he didn't mention anything about her probably mediocre body; surely he could have something to say about her form seeing as he'd been more than just privy to it? She couldn't say anything about him since she couldn't see him, but she knew that he'd been at least halfway naked around her - she could sense it, sense the change in the air around him. But screw her eyes, she had other ways of getting to him! He'd better watch out, she was a lioness after all!

But more than the physical, she wondered how they'd ended up laughing and near-naked in a pond, splashing water at each other. She wondered why he hadn't just left her at the mercy of the Death Eater, or why he had taken the time to clean her up properly. She wanted to think that it was some kind of sick way for him to ogle her, but she couldn't fathom that, not from the clinical feel of his fingers nor the steady sound of his breathing. He'd been slow, yes, but it had probably been too dark to see much.

Was she trying to comfort herself? Was she disappointed that the body she had only recently started taking excellent care of _for Ron_ had been seen, touched, and scrutinized by their nemesis?

It made her feel a little dirty, to be honest, but also... something else that was even more shameful.

There was a certain... curiosity that she felt.

It was hidden far down, but she'd heard him clear his throat when he'd opened her shirt, steady breathing be damned. He must have felt something, thought something. She'd never thought that she would find herself thinking this way about anyone... but there was a part of her, a dark part, that wanted revenge for all the remarks about her hair and her teeth and her clothes, revenge in the form of understanding and envy and... _jealousy_.

A part of her wanted him to _want_ her.

A disgusting thought in theory, but it was the ultimate crushing she could deal. It would be satisfying beyond anything she could do to him - to _break him emotionally_. That brick, that slab of stone, that rose cut diamond of a heart, bleeding tar and toxicity as he walked. She wanted to crush that, warm it up and stomp on it.

But she felt guilty.

Not just because of Ron, but because of all the things Draco Malfoy had _really_ done for her. Saving her life. Helping her see. Healing her. Getting her clothes and food and the walking stick, which he carved himself... she did not like _anyone_ taking care of her, but given her helplessness, it was rather... what was the word? Flattering?

Nice.

A word that when combined in a sentence with his name could possibly dissolve the fabric of reality.


	8. Shores of Discontent

_"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature... Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." - Helen Keller_

**Chapter Eight: Shores of Discontent**

Now that Hermione's shirt was ruined, she was forced to don her old one, complete with the ripped sleeve. She hugged the wrinkled cloth to herself as she listened to the sounds Draco made as he packed things into the bag. "Are we entering the city today?" she asked, in the same manner she had used to, not a fortnight before, back when she was terrified of being dead at any second, frantic in the black world she was thrust into.

Draco pointedly ignored the question, pushing her further into her hole, but paused all the same. "Let me see your wounds," he said abruptly, standing up. Hermione blinked her black eyes tearfully, taking a step back and finding herself still against a tree. She made no move to go around it because she knew he would get her eventually. The more compliant she was, the less likely he was to torture her.

Especially because all of it was torture now, a constant ache inside her chest that had nothing to do with the holes in her chest. She wanted to aggravate her wounds enough for her body to trigger some natural painkillers, covering the nerves that sent pain signals to her brain. Maybe she would not be able to feel the way he was tearing down her emotional walls. It was already painful enough that she was a captive and vulnerable to any sudden... whims he might have.

Such as this.

Draco stepped over to her quickly, filling her with a breathtaking panic, but by contrast lifted her shirt slowly. Hermione cringed as she felt his eyes inspect her splotched stomach; his patch job was as good as she could get with little resources, but there had to be some wood - and probably dirt and things much worse - still in there. The holes would probably get infected. She was unconsciously holding her breath, suddenly aware of how tall he was and how imposing his person was on her personal space.

"They don't hurt," she whispered, a blatant lie.

Draco nodded and stepped away from her. "We're leaving then," he said shortly.

There was an awkward silence between them as they found the highway leading into the city and began walking along it, Draco with the bulging duffel, which he could not shrink because of the panacea sap. She reveled in the cacophony that they were coming upon; days traveling with Malfoy had the oddest mechanical silence to them, even in the beautiful singing of the forest. It was definitely a small city, but anything was better than reflecting on the awkwardness that had settled between them, which had dimmed the extreme dislike into something less bearable.

It suddenly occurred to Draco how ridiculous the whole business was. Hermione Granger? Really. He was letting her get to him, never mind actually keeping her away from Death Eaters, and, oh goodness, _healing her_. Ha! He would have rather fed her to the Death Eaters, in a manner of speaking.

_No,_ he said to himself, _you are not running away. You always do this - start something and then just let it go. Prove them right. Forfeit._

Honestly, there was a part of him that loved to sicken himself with all the confidence boosting garbage - but he recognized, at least, that it was helpful. Torturing himself made it harder for him to torture others, he'd discovered. The "better them than me" attitude had not been a favorite among the Death Eaters. If he didn't feel so low all the time now, maybe he would put more effort into torturing his captive. But as it was, he didn't have enough energy.

It was almost too... weird to torture her now. After he'd healed her.

Some part of him wanted to restore the balance, make a snide comment to break the sudden fuzzy silence that had taken root, and establish them, once again, as former enemies, temporary companions, and eternal pet peeves. Acknowledging the awkwardness just made him feel like a smaller person who could not get over it.

A car honked as he veered a bit into the road, and he realized how suspicious the two of them looked walking along the highway.

"Let's hurry," he said shortly, tugging her along.

* * *

"What's this town's name?"

Hermione was now full of questions again and he was in no mood to be giving answers. "Don't know, don't care," Draco muttered, looking around the busy street. They were in a muggle city now, the coast glittering a short ways away. They were walking quickly toward the harbor - he could see the tops of boats already, poking oddly around the mismatched buildings.

First they had to stop at a store and nick a few things. Draco was desperate for some real food, that dull ache he'd felt earlier settling into his stomach and churning its emptiness. Hermione was also in need of some bandages and maybe some muggle healing potions. The walked up and down quite a few streets before he found a franchise drug store, ignoring all of the pretty little vintage shops along the road; shopping with his mother had trained him to notice such establishments. He did not know how to shop for muggle bandages, but they were probably one of the few things that were exactly the same for muggles and wizards. He was not above resorting to them, especially not when life could probably depend on it.

It was one of the biggest differences between him and his father.

He found the aisle quickly thanks to the clear aisle labels.

"How do muggle bandages work, Granger?"

Hermione shook her head, hugging her arms to herself. "Just get some big ones," she said quietly. The temperature in the store was not mixing well with her damaged chest and stomach; she couldn't hold herself as tightly as she wanted to without gasping in pain.

As expected, Draco was able to nick three boxes without rousing the suspicion of any store clerks. "What healing potion should I get?"

Hermione's eyes closed. She hadn't had to think like a muggle in a long while. "Get some hydrogen peroxide."

Draco wrinkled his nose. That sounded like such a muggle chemical. He grabbed the brown bottle anyway. This looked like one of the potions that burned when it came in contact with the skin. He honestly didn't know how he felt about that.

He grabbed a candy bar on the way out and headed for the pier.

"How are we getting on a boat?" Hermione said quietly when he stopped.

Draco looked around the dock at the many boats - he had no idea how to sail. If he were to jump on one and try to sail, they'd probably end up in Iceland. Or stranded, if they were lucky enough not to drown.

Loitering and staring at the boats attracted unnecessary attention, but they had no other option; they'd come this far, and thus needed to follow through with their original plan. Draco opened the candy bar and put it into his mouth... hmm. Muggle candy was rather boring.

"Admiring her, are you?" said a voice from their left. Draco turned to see a middle-aged, slightly plump man with thinning hair and a crinkly smile.

"Um, yes I was," Draco said uncertainly around the chocolate in his mouth, lowering the candy bar and looking at the boat in front of him. He'd never really talked to a muggle before and didn't quite know how to react. The man spoke with a slight brogue and had his hands on his hips, but besides his starched, albeit slightly drab clothing, he looked no different than a frequenter of the Leaky Cauldron.

"We were wondering if you could take us to Norway," Hermione said, looking toward the man's voice. Draco looked at her incredulously.

"I eventually stop in Norway, yes," he said, looking into the sun. "I pay three fifty an hour, you can start now if you like; you comin'?" Draco stared at him, and he chuckled. "I'm fooling. I pay more'n that."

"We - "

"We can't just ride along?" she asked. Draco looked at her again.

The man stared at her for a long moment, probably assessing her slightly unkempt appearance, the dirt smudged on her arms. The way she shivered as if she hadn't eaten in days. "I'll tell you what," he said, motioning to a man who had just gotten off the boat, "If you can load all these boxes below while we go pick up some supplies right fast, I'll let you ride along." He smiled at them.

"Thank you!" Hermione said brightly, and the man walked away.

"What just happened?" Draco asked himself angrily before turning to her. "How many times do I have - "

"Shut up, I got us a boat. Now move the boxes." Draco stared at her.

"Do you really - "

"You have a _wand_. Just levitate them."

Draco sputtered angrily before looking around them. There were people around.

"No one's looking! Just make it look like you're lifting!"

"How would you know? You can't _see_ how many people are around!"

Hermione shrugged and turned away from him, the wind twisting her hair about.

Draco's brain finally wrapped around the situation. That had taken no time at all... he'd half expected them to wait around the boats all day, looking for a way to sneak on one. He glared at her back as she suddenly bent down and felt for the edges of a box. "I don't think so, bug-eyes. Step aside, and don't go running away."

It took twice as long as it probably could have, considering that he had to board with the boxes every time, but he still finished in time for the balding man to ogle the empty space.

"Whew," he said, obviously impressed. "You did that all by yourself, lad?"

Draco nodded, glaring at Hermione, who had her head turned in the wrong direction.

"Well?" he said, looking at the person behind him - a tall and toned man who was probably a little older than Draco yet looked very similar - who shrugged.

"It's your esteemed vessel, Frank," he said, lifting the bag he was carrying further up on his shoulder.

"Okay. Come along," Frank sighed, boarding.

The young man behind him stood next to Draco. "Isn't he great? I started working for him in much the same way - I showed up and asked for a ride. I'm Tim by the way."

"Pleasure," Draco said, grabbing Hermione's arm. She was drifting away a bit, a little too close to the edge of the dock.

"Anyway, I'll show you around. You ever been on a boat before? I hadn't either. It's not that difficult to learn. Well, actually it is, but we won't be having you do anything too taxing."

Draco looked at Hermione as the young man continued to blab away, wondering how she'd managed to get them a ticket into safety. She was obviously not as impaired as he'd thought.

* * *

"You have no idea," Harry said, watching the woman's quill speed away across her parchment. She was, thank goodness, a far cry from the atrocity that was Rita Skeeter, and even further from Fudge.

She was the woman in charge of the Department of Magical Defense.

"What else did the storekeeper say?"

Harry looked at his hands. "That was all." The woman nodded and put away her quill and parchment pad.

There was silence as she looked at him for a couple of seconds. He looked up at her and knew that she understood.

"I'm very sorry about this, Harry," she said quietly.

Harry nodded. They'd found out very little since the inn incident, and time was moving very quickly. He tried not to think about what condition his friend was in, about how close she had come before to being in their clutches permanently, about the muffled sound of her screams as he'd sat in that cell after being captured...

"We're doing everything we can. But Thomas just joined the Death Eaters, so they don't have him doing anything big yet. He's bipolar anyway - we need more snitches."

Harry smiled a bit at the muggle term. "It's fine. I know you are doing everything you can. Thank you for taking this case, Nora."

"It's my pleasure, and my job," Nora Constable replied, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder.

* * *

Once they set sail, they ended up not doing anything in particular. Hermione found herself sitting on the top deck, listening to the sounds the water made as it hit the white gloss on the side of the boat.

Draco, of course, the map under his arm, was pacing.

As far as he was concerned, they were now trapped in an enclosed space. How had she managed to talk him into this shit? Besides the rocking of the boat making him nervous, as well as the strange looks from the handful of people aboard, he could not help but feel that he had put them in more danger than they would have been in otherwise. "I can't believe this," he muttered, turning.

"Relax, Draco. We're safe now."

"Did it ever occur to you that if the Death Eaters managed to find us here, we have nowhere to run?"

"Can you apparate or not? Besides, you agreed with me before."

He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, backwards and forwards, scraping his scalp. He'd never apparated over water, and he had no idea where to go. Hopefully any capture attempt would not be traumatic enough for him to have his mind open. If that was the case, the Death Eaters would know his destination, and it would be harder to lose them.

Not to mention the fact that he was getting _very_ sick of this rocking motion and the smell of the sea water as it sprayed over them. It made his stomach twist even more. He put his other hand to his chest to ease some of the discomfort.

Bloody sailing.

* * *

Hermione leaned against the railing, letting the cold wind whip at her face and blow her now undone hair around. She needed a bit of freedom, and this was the closest she could come. She'd already thought to jump overboard in order to escape... but they'd get her pretty quickly. She could also tell Frank that Draco was holding her against her will, but what good would that do? If he believed her, they were still on the water and he still had a job to do. There was only so much he could do for her, being a muggle while Draco had a wand.

And how much did she really want to escape?

Everything back home - all the paperwork, conferences, endless newspaper articles - it all seemed so far away, and so unappealing to her. The only real reason why she wanted to get out of this was so she could see Harry and Ron again.

She missed them so much... the thought made her throat tighten.

Draco had started out being a completely unbearable captor, but lately he had become more of a travel companion than anything - bringing her food, letting her bathe, healing her wounds, carrying her while they apparated... she remembered, briefly, the feeling of his chest as she'd bumped against it, over and over, during their first escape...

She also had no wand, no way to contact her friends, and no way to get to the Ministry of Magic, even if she did manage to incapacitate Draco long enough to make an attempt. And Draco was her eyes.

Ugh. She _hated_ situations like this, where she was forced to depend on someone she didn't like or couldn't handle it. Her eyesight was complicating everything.

Because she couldn't see Draco's face and connect that with his voice, she was starting to view him as a different person, and not the mean, brutish little punk that she remembered. While limiting her to treating him fairly, which parts of her thought she should not have done, it also gave her an opportunity to understand him and hear him out. She couldn't forgive him just yet for the horrible way that he'd treated her, even in the past few weeks; it didn't matter so much that he'd done it to save her life.

He wasn't much for deep conversation, which didn't allow her brain time to discern things about him that she would be able to based on someone else's ramblings, but from what he _had_ told her, she could still view him as a human with thoughts and fears. Her brain wanted to blanket it, make it seem as though he was just a mean, ill-hearted person who got off on the pain and sufferings of others, but her heart knew that nothing was as simple as that. Not being able to see his face helped so much when dealing with him... it was probably only because of that fact that she even allowed herself to think of him in any kind of positive or understanding light.

But what could she expect? She was out here, on some random vessel, traveling to a random city, with no one but him to lead her in a correct direction. As much as Hermione hated to admit it, her biggest weakness was that she craved human companionship, even when she pretended to want some alone time. There were times when she wanted to study by herself, or lock herself in a closet for a few hours, but she knew that that emotion was just a complicated cry for affection, a yearn for the comfort of some one else's shoulder. She had always hugged Crookshanks when she wanted something cuddly, but that alone could not always satisfy her. There was something so substantive about a human hug.

Was Draco becoming that necessary continuity, that needed company?

Complete strangers were nicer to her than he had ever been, and yet a part of her needed him - his help, the sound of his voice, and even his company.

Whether she liked it or not, he was becoming, in a bit of a twisted way, one of her friends. A friend that a distant part of her - or perhaps that immoral and dark part of her - wanted to like her as more than a friend. It had been that way, at first, with Harry and Ron. She'd befriended them, showing off her knowledge and guiding them where they needed it... she'd wanted them to like her so much. When she finally got her wish, her relationship with Harry had turned into one of the best she's ever had, and with Ron... well, even now it was complicated, going back and forth between friend and romantic interest, depending on the time of day, it seemed.

She dared not compare Draco with them... _Ron..._ there was no comparison in that way. But what she had with Draco was a different kind of friendship, where words and mushiness were not necessary; only understanding.

It wasn't even friendship as it was... companionship.

Besides, when she really thought about it, she and Draco had the same goal as far as she knew - to bring down the Death Eaters. Crush the remaining resistance so the rest of the world could live in harmony. He could never change sides formally - he had to work undercover to protect himself, and to protect his mission. So perhaps his cause was good, even though he demonstrated that he was, at least on the surface, an egotistical prat. And perhaps that would never change... but his heart apparently had.

"There is no honor in this so called mission of his... he's basically driven by nothing but revenge," she tried to convince herself. It had an equal possibility of being true, given his history. She didn't understand revenge as a motivator; she understood the need to make people feel what they have done to others, but she knew that revenge just got more people killed and more people hurt, and that it was a never ending cycle of madness. There were better motivators for doing good.

But then again, it was a good start for him. Revenge was something that she knew Malfoy could understand; it was in his family and in his nature.

"Well, I can hardly go back now, can I?"

Hermione whipped around to face him, barely keeping her balance at the edge. Had he been standing there that whole time? Her face flushed; damn her eyes. "Yes, you can back out. Give me to the Ministry."

"I'm sorry, Granger - I just can't trust you to go about your merry way without exacting your own revenge."

Hermione shook her head and carefully turned around again, letting her hair plaster itself to the sides of her head from the wind. He obviously knew nothing about her - her revenge on him would just be him knowing how much he had ruined lives, and nothing more than that. "You are just making the end harder for yourself."

"I can't just let this go," he said a little more softly. "I have to finish this."

"And what end is there?"

"You should know."

There was a brief silence before she understood. "Are you suggesting... are you dragging me along to your futile attempt to destroy the Dark Lord's followers?"

Draco thought, letting a little evil smile cross his lips. "Yes, I guess I am."

"That's ridiculous! Leading me straight to them, when the brave knight tried so _gallantly_ to keep me away from them! We are supposed to be running away from them, not sitting in their laps!"

"It's not that simple, I know," he countered, running a hand over his face, "but I think we can do it."

"What's this 'we' business?"

"Oh, so you _don't_ want to bring them down? You were so quick to offer your help before! You _knew_ this is what we would do. You knew."

"I never said that I don't want to bring them down, Malfoy."

"Well, then where is that supposed courageous Gryffindor?"

Hermione shook her head. "The _Ministry of Magic_ can't even bring them down. What makes you think that we can?"

Draco was losing patience. It all made sense to him, and she was more the type to do this sort of thing than him - she and her little friends had done things like this numerous times, in almost every single year they were at Hogwarts. But suddenly _he_ was the one rushing into things? "Because we are two people they want more than Harry Potter himself. We are smart, and we both know the secrets of the sides, former for me, current for you. Because we are a small unit while the Ministry is composed of a bunch of bumbling, blundering idiots who can't organize a decent office party let alone a raid."

Hermione closed her eyes, finding it easier to envision his face despite the lack of change in her sight. The only image she could conjure, however, was his murderous features, cast in shadows and brightness from the streetlamps on a lonely drive in Edinburgh, and even that was blurry... she shook the image away. "Let me think about it - "

"No," he responded quickly, turning away from her, "if you are not going to help, then what are we supposed to do? Hide away forever?"

"You _could_ let me go."

"Yes, and I could also just _avada_ myself where I stand."

"You could do that as well."

He eyed her sharply. "Be serious, Granger."

"I _am_ being serious," she responded angrily. "What good does this mission do?"

Draco shook his head and started to walk away. "I offer my help with something you want to do as much as I. I'd like to see the Death Eaters make such an offer."


	9. Reception Fades

"_Vision without action is merely a dream. Action without vision just passes the time. Vision with action can change the world." - Joel A. Barker_

**Chapter Nine: Reception Fades**

_Anything was better than this - making a pastime of balancing droplets of blood on his arm as they rose to the surface of his skin; watching wet red lines form and thicken. He just wanted to wrap his arm in something pretty and drench every happy feeling in existence._

_He wanted to watch the world in flames, watch as it infested itself with sadness and collapsed with pain._

_These were not strange feelings. He didn't know anything better, anything lighter than this, and wondered if there could possibly be others like him. He wanted to find them. He wanted to look at them and them to look at him and there to be an infinite understanding, satisfying beyond any revenge he could possibly deal to whoever could possibly be to blame._

_At first he could feel nothing but the tar, when the knife felt like a small scratch... and then the wetness as he made red plaid patterns on a towel... but then the stinging would start. And the lump in his throat would dissipate then._

_The tears, of course, remained, as they often did. He decided that as real as pain felt, it wasn't anything tangible. It was not matter. Matter could not be created or destroyed; it had to come from somewhere and it had to go somewhere as well. The causes and effects were as real as the knife next to him._

_Draco remembered the first time his father showed any indication that he knew about Draco's... scratch work. He had found one of his bloody towels, which Draco kept for some unknown reason, even to him. He folded them all neatly into little squares and stacked them in his luxurious walk-in closet, right under his 800 galleon dress robes.  
_

_Lucius had asked him what they were; Draco had replied, "remnants of torture victims."_

_He still wondered at that response, but even more, at his father's reaction to it - he had stood there for a few more seconds, just staring at him. Draco had stared back, unabashed, wondering if Lucius could see his lie, and even more, if Lucius even cared. They probably understood each other more in that moment than in any they had ever shared._

_Good - some fresh eye-openers probably did Lucius good, whether he thought Draco was a sick trophy stasher or a cutter._

_The spells on his arms were fading. He could see the thin scars, brown, white, pink, running up and down his arms. Thank goodness Hermione Granger was as blind as she was. If only she knew his past handiwork... she would lecture him until his ears dropped off._

_If there was anything he required her silence on, it was things like this._

Draco rubbed his arm, his skin bristling as the little hairs moved in their pores. There was a light wind about, and the open sea was rather calm for such an overcast sky. It was almost white.

He was thrust back into his memories, his brain supplying pictures of his father on a day like this.

_Lucius always looked good in gloom. Something about his skin giving off a white glow, his normally pale eyelashes supplied with shadows and valleys that allowed for definition._

_The world was grey on days like this, and London was as rainy as it ever was. The only color he could see was the red of his mother's lips and the blue of his parent's eyes, like the parting of the clouds, set in crystals._

_He'd always wondered how something so pure looking could be so utterly sinister._

_He had not inherited that - he was as colorless on a grey day as the surrounding stone slabs of people walking by. His eyes were like stone; dull, and more green when compared with his father's. It made him feel dead inside._

He shook his head. This journey was definitely supplying him with too much time to think, and the last thing he wanted to do was think about the past. As far as he was concerned, he was done telling himself that his life was over. He had at least a hundred years ahead of him, and he wanted that hundred years to be sunnier.

He didn't want Dumbledore's ill-placed faith to go to such waste. It felt like a kick to the ribs.

"What're you spacing about there?" asked Frank, coming up a nearby set of steps that led below. "I've seen better days than this, so I know you aren't enjoying the weather."

Draco shook his head. They'd been going for two days but Draco was still somewhat uncomfortable around Frank. Frank's happy-go-lucky attitude toward everything and his wavering will made him one of the strangest people that Draco had ever met. He couldn't understand that kind of an approach to life; his life consisted of constantly picking the lesser of two evils.

"There isn't much to do on deck... I've got hands for that sort of thing. I do love the open water though."

Draco nodded, not wanting to be impolite. It almost seemed that Frank was nearly a different species from him. "What do you do for a living?" he asked suddenly.

Frank shook his head. "If I told ya, I'd have to kill you later, wouldn't I?" When he got no response, he said, "Well, perhaps with my jokes. I ship cargo... well, I _sneakily_ ship cargo around. There's never a lot of it, maybe a few bits here and there... but it's rather important to a special group of people."

One of the things Draco had noticed that was perhaps adding to his anxiety about the water was the fact that he sensed a magical presence that was not his or his charge's. He suspected that there was something afoot, and he had received confirmation.

"With whom do you do business?"

"I don't know if I can answer that," Frank said. "I trust everybody enough, but who knows, these days..."

"I'm not... a rival trader's spy or something, and I don't work for your government. I'm just curious as to why you took us in." Tim called from below then.

"You needed the help," he said, giving Draco a significant look. Draco studied the man's face, the face of the inferior being with the crinkly, smiling eyes and the unshaven face. "Let me know if you need anything else," he said as he made his way back into the cabin. Draco stared back at the water.

"I need your assistance," Hermione said tentatively from the other side of the boat after Frank had gone.

"With what?" Draco asked halfheartedly, leaning on the railing. _I hope she falls overboard. I'm not in the mood._

"I... I need the hydrogen peroxide."

His eyes came to life. "SHIT!" he burst out, whipping around to face her. There was a contrite note in his voice; he'd completely forgotten about the muggle potion! He went to get the black duffel and rustled around in it.

Hermione bowed her head and removed her sunglasses. She had been mentally preparing herself for this - not only the stinging, but the fact that she could not handle a full bottle of watery hydrogen peroxide without her sight; she needed him to do it.

He looked at the bottle; it was plastic and brown, very strange looking compared to the beautiful glassware that wizard potions were kept in. Draco moved his thumb over the soft plastic as he walked over to her.

Oh. _Oh._

Hermione was leaning back on her hands, her long torso stretched out above the glossy white of the bench. Draco stopped.

He had to pour the stuff on her himself.

"It's very runny, and cold. Don't get it in your hangnails unless you mean to, because it... it stings and bubbles when it comes in contact with the wound."

Draco shook his head, sitting next to her and twisting the white cap off. She made it sound terrible.

"What does this do again? Does it mend the skin?"

"No," Hermione breathed quietly. "It disinfects only."

Draco carefully filled the white cap with some of the clear fluid; it had a blue tinge to it and a smell that stung his nose. Hermione had pulled her shirt up on her own; her skin reflected the white of the sky blindingly, though her edges were grey. He looked up at her face as he balanced the capful above a small wound. Her lips were red, as were her cheeks.

He splashed it onto the wound, and it immediately began to sizzle and bubble. Hermione stifled a cry of pain; Draco had to look away. Her pain-face made him uncomfortable.

She was chuckling now; Draco stared at the bubbling incredulously. She'd gone insane as well? She continued to chortle, even after it made her cough. "I'd forgotten what our medical remedies felt like!"

"That's not at _all _funny. Damn muggle _shit_." The smell was making him really sick; he could feel the smell in his mouth, trying to fill his empty stomach.

She shook her head, tears in her black eyes, though she was smiling.

"Damn, you're strange," he said disgustedly as he poured another capful and emptied it on her biggest wound - about the size of a golden snitch. It hissed and bubbled, and her thin muscles tensed as she bit through the pain. The stuff seemed downright foul, going against every magical cell in his body, everything. Remedies were supposed to make one feel good - she wasn't growing a spine or anything like that.

When he'd finished, he capped the brown bottle quickly and took up the bandages - big white patches. Her scabs were still bubbling, and looked juiced with clear slime. "Ugh," he said as he ripped the backing off one bandage and put it on, smoothing the edges and patting the center lightly. The juicy wound bled through the white a bit, staining it amber.

She could feel his disgust more than she could hear it, and somehow it irritated her. "Yeah, yeah, I know I'm gross. You'll have your pretty pureblood fingers back soon."

He was beyond his comfort zone, afraid to touch the stuff, whether he was not above muggle methods or not. Of all the things he'd touched, from Blast-Ended Skrewts to frogs eyes, this was the grossest. And he'd had his fair share of gross - Weaslette's bat-boogey hex was not to be trifled with.

"That," he said heavily, "was the _worst_. Ever. _Never_ ask me to do something like that again."

"I..." Hermione started, but trailed off. She had been about to say, "I don't have anyone else."

He heard the unfinished sentence in her pause anyway. She could have shouted it in his ear for the deafening silence it caused.

"That stuff is making me... sick," he said quietly. He needed to get away from her, away from her pulled up shirt that she had forgotten about, away from her smelly muggle chemical, her awkward silence. Her white face and red lips.

Loss rushed over her as his footsteps faded and stopped on the other side of the boat. She gulped in some air and fumbled with the edge of her shirt.

* * *

"Speak to me. Whisper, I'll listen."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she whispered back.

Tim nodded, quietly turning his head on his flat pillow. "How bad is it, do you think?"

"It... it could be bad. I don't even... I can't even identify it. But I know the general feeling is how it starts. How all of that drama starts."

"And are you so... opposed to feeling this way?"

Now how was she going to answer that? Leave it to a stranger to assess her situation so well. She didn't even know what she was dealing with here. "I'm not supposed to. I'm supposed to hate him, want nothing to do with him. Now I feel like he's ripped me away, and I have to claw my way back."

It was Tim's turn to shake his head.

So that companionship she'd felt was probably not the same as it was with her friends... because her relationship with her friends was not the same. That's the way it seemed.

And then she had asked, why? Why was it so different? She didn't hate Draco exactly - he definitely had a knack for pissing her off, but that's all it was at this point. She'd gotten used to him. So then what was this atrocity? She couldn't get him out of the corner of her thoughts now. That emotion she'd felt as he'd walked away, like he was pulling something away from her, dragging her lungs on a chain behind him...

"I think you're being irrational."

Hermione nodded slowly. It was rather irrational of her. "I have reason to be afraid." Thank goodness Tim couldn't see her eyes in the darkness, or anyone else for that matter; besides their utter blackness, he'd be able to see her doubt. He shared a room with half of the crew, which is where she and Draco were sleeping as well. Draco sat slumped against a wall near the door, his cot untouched.

"Why?"

She shrugged, causing her blanket to slide a bit. "I've got someone... back in London. And this was how that started, seven years ago."

"Seven years ago... that puts you at early teens, I suppose. This will be different. You've gotten older now."

"I don't want it to _be_ anything."

Time sighed and turned over. "Sometimes fighting things makes them stronger. Besides, I wouldn't worry too much."

"Thanks, Tim."

On the other side of the room, Draco Malfoy rubbed his arm, wondering what Hermione was whispering about.

* * *

_Author's note: _I've got fanart for the story now! Visit my profile page for the link.


	10. Like Obsidian

_"Sometimes in order to see the light you have to risk the dark." - Minority Report (2002)_

**Chapter Ten: Like Obsidian**

Frank didn't ask much of them. Hermione he only said hello to, and otherwise allowed her to roam from the top deck to below, where the cots, kitchen, bathroom, and even the cargo was. They'd stopped at a port city for a day, getting more supplies and food, but neither Hermione nor Draco left the ship.

None of the other members of the crew really talked to them besides Tim, who seemed to be running the show a bit besides Frank; Tim was more organized than Frank, so he dealt with the paperwork and the scheduling while Frank made the business. The other members of the ship just shot them sympathetic looks, nodding approvingly as the color returned to their cheeks.

Tim and Hermione made idle conversation when the day's work was mostly done or left to the other hands. The conversation was usually directed towards Hermione since Draco wasn't the most talkative of people.

Now that Draco had an opportunity to be away from her for more than a minute, he took full advantage of it, sitting on the opposite side of where ever she was and finding himself on deck while she was below or vice-versa. At the moment, he could care less where she was, though she was his responsibility. He'd gotten them into this mess, really, and once again he had to tell himself to follow through.

That didn't obligate him to spend time with her though; she was probably enjoying the space as well, though he didn't really like Tim talking to her so much.

"Why does she always wear those sunglasses?"

Draco shook his head, staring out at the water. He had probably given Tim the impression that he was ill-tempered and silent; he didn't really intend to change that.

"I think we should get her some aviators when we get to Bergen. She'd look great in them, I reckon."

"She's blind," Draco said flatly. "I don't want people staring at her."

Tim was silently surprised for a few good minutes, and Draco went back to concentrating on the water.

"Why would people stare?"

Draco shook his head. Tim was not irritating in his kindly personality to most, but Draco did not really like nice people. They tended to grate his nerves. "Take a look at her eyes - she looks like a freak."

He could feel Tim's astonishment mixed with a twinge of outrage. That had pissed the guy off a bit. "She can't look bad enough to be called that!"

"Her eyes are black, like obsidian. Ask her to take the glasses off for you; I'm sure she'd hesitate to oblige. She knows that she's a freak." Draco turned away from the water and walked away, leaving the blond man to stare after him.

"And she actually likes this guy!" he said, shaking his head.

* * *

_It seemed that only crisis could bring true feelings out of his parents. They'd stood idly by while he became a menace. They'd showed nothing when he'd become a Death Eater. But the second his life was put in danger so very obviously, and in the very last chance either of them had to show their love, his mother had finally stepped out of herself long enough to care. And he was suddenly the strings that held her together._

_And then, there was nothing more than that; the voice he'd hated, filled with false love, turned glaringly real in his ears._

_He didn't hesitate to gobble it up. He hadn't realized how wonderful it would taste._

_He saw a bit of it in his father as well. It usually came in small, scrumptious doses that Draco took in reluctantly at first, and then without hesitation. It usually happened when he was reprimanded during training or when the Dark Lord - who had a thing for toying with emotions, even among his own outfit - would taunt him or make snide comments, lightly, that were anything but light in nature. His father could not always maintain his business-like mask at these times, and it had gotten him into trouble. But among the sudden family bond, Draco missed life before, where he could be alone to do as he wished._

_Being a Death Eater wasn't his life's goal... it was merely a means to an end - to be accepted in the only way he was able, the only way his father could really be proud of him._

_He'd wanted Draco to not only be just like him, but to be the quintessential image of him._

* * *

"I've got a lot of news," Harry said tiredly, throwing his rucksack on the ground and loosening his collar. Ginny took his cloak silently and hugged him, long and hard, before she went in the kitchen to fetch some refreshments.

"Go on, then," Ron sighed without emotion. He could feel nothing; he wondered what great and terrible "news" Harry had.

"I'll say the bad news first then," he said. "It seems that the Death Eater's hideout was not in Gravekeeper's Cove like we suspected. Now we had to begin to look outside of Europe."

"Shit!" Ron said, launching to his feet. "Why would they not have their hideout in Europe? Half the wizard population lives here, along with some of the - "

"We're trying Africa next, pinpointing Egypt," Harry continued, talking over Ron's rant. "There is a large black market there for dark materials and magic artifacts; they perhaps moved closer to potential suppliers."

Ginny thrusted a glass of firewhiskey into his hands. He immediately took a sip, cringing against the bitter whiskey taste. He swallowed, his throat burning. "Also, there was a break-in in the Department of Mysteries. Several doors were forced, and things were taken from the Hall of Prophecy and the Hall of Growth."

Ginny shuddered. "What would they want in the Hall of Growth?"

Harry shook his head, and then downed the rest of his drink, trying not to gag as it seemed to have been slightly too much. "They took a few spellbooks. They took also a prophecy; one of the ones that hadn't been cataloged yet, down one of the last rows. Nora is devastated and afraid of what they want with it. You know how much she hates prophecies."

Ron nodded. This didn't even sound so bad to him. "What's the good news?"

Harry took a deep breath. "We think we know where Hermione is."

He turned to him.

"We think she's in France. The Auror search party found some more of Hermione's wand in one of the forests there. Hermione is leaving us a breadcrumb trail, as we thought. We're now working with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to try to track where they are."

"What if the Death Eaters _want_ us to think that she is in France? What if they planted that?"

Harry looked at at Ron. "Nora assured me of this. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement uses more muggle methods than it does wizard ones; no other fingerprints were on the wand except for hers. Death Eaters overlook such things."

He didn't really know what fingerprints had to do with where Hermione was, but he trusted Harry enough to know what he was talking about. Harry had been a muggle longer than he had been a wizard. "Okay. France, then."

"She's not going to stay there for long, though. Malfoy is probably moving quickly, where ever he's taking her... and that's the one thing we can't seem to figure out yet - whether he is working for the Death Eaters or against them. They've tried to kill both of them at least once."

"Well, let's hope for the best; I'm sick of dealing with Death Eaters."

"Aren't we all?" Kingsley said, entering the room. The group piped up at his sudden appearance; there were only two reasons why he would come directly to the Weasley house to talk to them. Either he found something else out, or... something bad had happened.

"What's going on?"

"I need the other piece of Hermione's wand. We need to repair it to see what spell she used last."

Harry nodded and got up to retrieve the wand.

Ron bristled. "I'm really about to give up on this whole thing."

"Don't, Ron. I know this is stressful - "

"_Stressful?_" Ron kicked the edge of the couch, causing it to jump and thump back against the hardwood floor.

" - but everyone is looking for her. You know that."

Ron punched the pillow next to him, sending it across the room. "PEOPLE DON'T JUST DISAPPEAR."

"All we have is a direction, a general area. But this is enough to warrant a bigger search team, Ronald. Besides that, we have nothing."

"WHY? ARE WE WIZARDS OR NOT?"

"It's never that simple. We can't, under the law, track people like that. We don't even know how."

* * *

"Okay. So are you really going to help me bring them down?"

"Yes. But I'm not doing it for you."

Draco shrugged. "That's fine; I don't care who you do it for. But if we're going to do this, you're going to have to follow a few rules. One, do not tell _anyone. _Not even the muggles." Draco had long since realized that she'd had an opportunity to escape when Frank had invited them to the boat. Though her attention might have been focused on the fact that she had secured them a ride, there were enough people around to warrant a relatively pain free escape from him.

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she knew he couldn't tell. The only indication of her eyes moving came from a light shift in the white reflection. "Obviously. I know that one already."

"Two, you do not dictate all the time. This is still my mission - "

" - Says the genius as if the whole idea wasn't plagiarized - "

" - and I still can't trust you with a wand. You'll have to earn that."

"What? You can't be serious! What the heck am I supposed to do then, shoot them?"

Draco stared at her for a few seconds. "With what?"

"My point exactly! I don't know where to get a gun, and it better be a pretty big damned gun!"

_Oh, guns_. "Do you think those muggle metal spitters will do any harm against them?"

"So am I supposed to come at them with my bare hands? I can't even see!"

"Well, in that case, maybe we _can _get you some muggle weapons."

Hermione didn't think that that was funny.

"There are antidotes to the Noctulous Blindness, though none of them are offered by healers here. The only place that I know of that has the technology... is probably China."

"Figures," Hermione grumbled. "It'd have to be halfway across the world."

"In the meantime, I need you to do your best. I need your help not because of the superior skills you have or anything like that; I need it so you can stay out of my way and help me."

Hermione hated her darkness. She hated the world she couldn't see. And most of all, she hated that this Noctulous Blindness had come to her at the worst possible time. "Alright, then."

Draco nodded. "Good."

"But one thing," she said dangerously. "I may be blind, but I'm not deaf and I'm _certainly_ not dumb. You _will_ hear my opinion, and hear it often."

Draco stifled a groan painfully. As if she needed to remind him of _that._

* * *

_Author's note:_ Make sure you visit my profile page for the new story artwork!


	11. Alive and Well

_"It is the weak who are cruel; gentleness can only be expected from the strong." - Leo Rosten_

**Chapter Eleven: Alive and Well**

Bergen was a beautiful city that had a kind of wizarding flair to it versus a muggle one; the air was very different from that of any cities in England, and Draco breathed it in happily. They might actually be safe now.

Draco tried not to think about what Frank had said to him earlier; it made him uncomfortable.

"You don't have any family or friends here." It had not been a question.

"No. Hermione and I are running from someone."

Frank had nodded slowly, watching the crew members offload some unremarkable wooden crates. "I could have guessed that. I'd be rotten if I didn't offer you a place to stay, wouldn't I?"

Draco had not been planning to stay in civilization; he had been planning to get lost in the hills and mountains in Norway, putting a land barrier between himself and the Death Eaters still searching for the two of them.

"You offer too much," he'd said. "We really shouldn't burden you further."

"Nonsense. I have a great house, and we never have guests. My wife will be pleased."

He'd bowed his head slightly. "Thank you very much."

"At any rate, we should worry about such things later. Hows about you give us a hand in the meantime?"

Draco wondered why Frank was so foolishly kind.

Hermione was the last of the cargo to be offloaded. He'd found her replacing one of the bandages just below her collarbone, peeling the old, dirty bandage off carefully and rubbing off the sticky residue around the edges.

"We're staying with Frank, apparently."

Hermione had said nothing; she'd just felt around for the wrappers she had discarded, stuffing the used bandage into her jacket pocket to be discarded later.

Now that they were in the city, he took a good look around through the windows of the car, taking in the beautiful scenery of the harbor and the hills beyond. With the cargo going to a separate location, Draco and Hermione were being driven to Frank's house by Tim. He smiled at them in the rear view mirror as he went on about Norwegian currency, only stopping when he realized that even Hermione wasn't paying attention to him.

"Isn't Frank wonderful?" he began again.

Draco nodded, adding another notch to the number of times Tim had said those exact words. He was up to six. "Maybe too much so."

Tim shook his head at this, scanning the cars around him at the traffic light. "No one can be too kind. He makes it his goal... in order to make up for things he's done in the past. I say we all make mistakes, but he thinks that his mistakes could have been avoided. It makes him too careful."

Draco glanced at Hermione - she was being unusually quiet for this sort of talk. Her head was against the window, her glasses in her lap. He realized then how dingy the both of them looked.

"That's why I'm around... I've got more guts than him. He likes to please people no matter what."

Frank's house was rather large, located in one of the many suburban areas outside of the main city. It wasn't nearly the size of Draco's manor, but it was big enough that he didn't wrinkle his nose. Hermione felt her way out of the car, taking in the crisp breeze and the sound of the trees.

"Frank's wife is Sasha; the two daughters are Amelia and Jessibelle, or Jesse and Amy. Mrs. Worthington!"

A thin woman with grey brown hair embraced Tim; she was nearly as tall as him. She had a thick white streak stemming from one of her temples and long, bony fingers; despite her age, she looked to be quite an attractive woman. "I'm always glad to have you Tim; Jess is in the courtyard. And who are your guests?"

Tim turned toward Draco and Hermione. "Yes, excuse me - this is Draco and Hermione."

Sasha smiled warmly at them. "You must be the couple Frank spoke about this morning on the phone." Hermione blushed horribly. "Welcome; my name is Sasha. What brings you to Norway?"

Draco bristled slightly at the assumption that they were a couple, but Frank had said Sasha was from Bath, which was Draco's favorite place to visit. He had a very friendly uncle there. "We sailed with your husband. He took us in; we needed a lift."

"Thank you very much for your kindness," Hermione said, speaking for the first time that day. She gave a slight bow, nearly in the wrong direction. Draco turned her a bit, unconsciously drawing her into his arm.

"Hermione. What a lovely name for such a lovely girl." Hermione smiled under her sunglasses, though she knew she looked anything but lovely at the moment.

When they were inside, Draco took in the white decor while Sasha readied them a place to sleep; Tim had snuck off somewhere in the direction of the back of the house.

"You haven't any trunks or baggage?"

Draco shook his head and indicated the bag slung over his shoulder. Hermione stuck close to his side, obviously afraid to break anything.

Sasha nodded sadly, looking down at the bed she had just tidied. She cleared her throat and continued. "Well, in the mornings, if you want more room, the bed folds up into a couch. The cushions are in the closet... dinner will be ready at about 6:00; Frank should be home by then. In the meantime, go ahead and relax. We're going to _Galleriet_ tomorrow if you'd like to come."

Draco's mouth quirked into a small smile. He wondered what _Galleriet_ was. "Thank you."

He glanced around at the muggle room. It had kind of a muggle... smell to it. He wondered when he would get to go outside to the city, which was more his style. Now that they were somewhat safe, he wanted a bit of freedom.

"I want a proper bath," Hermione said, detaching herself, arms stretched before her. "What's the room like?"

Draco decided to leave out the part that there was only one bed. "It's white... and very muggle-like."

"And there's only one bed."

The back of his neck became hot. "Yes. There's one bed."

Hermione nodded carefully and felt for the door frame to the bathroom, managing to find the closet instead. Draco silently steered her into the bathroom and turned the shower on before walking out. Her company in this closed little room was suffocating him after being alone with himself for nearly a week; awkwardness had joined them once again.

* * *

Draco turned from inspecting a print of a famous painting. There was a girl standing behind him; she looked about fifteen and had a mess of dyed cherry red hair. She said something in Norwegian, and he quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh, you're the... guest we're having." Her sudden blush was not lost on him.

"Draco," he said, extending a hand. She took it softly, only giving it a bit of a squeeze before letting go.

"Amy."

He nodded and turned back to the portrait. Who had painted this? He had the original in his room at the manor.

"So um... what brings you here?"

Draco shook his head. What was it with muggles? Did they really enjoy idle conversation so much? And what was he going to answer that with? He opted for a shrug, deciding to tell a half truth. "I'm being chased by psychotic murderers." He looked directly into her eyes to let her think that he wasn't serious; his eyes were piercing.

"Well yeah... okay." She rushed away determinedly. Draco resisted the urge to smirk._ She will learn how to deal with smoothies like me._

The "courtyard" that Sasha had spoken of was more of a backyard than a courtyard; the grassy nature of it gave it more the look of a courtyard however, as well as the light grey square in the center of it. A woman in her mid twenties was sitting in the grass with what looked to be a sheathed sword in her lap. Tim was sitting across from her, his eyes smiling.

Draco decided to avoid that introduction for now in favor of searching for Sasha; all this hospitality and kindness was making him a little sick and uncomfortable. He felt that he needed to pay them back somehow.

He found Sasha in the kitchen, a grey cat rubbing against her ankles as she chopped vegetables.

"Hello dear. How is your lady friend doing?"

"She's in the shower. I plan to go in next."

Sasha smiled at him with the same note of sadness she had earlier, dumping some green peppers into a bowl and turning to a stalk of celery. "That's all good and well. It's nice to have some company when Frank is at work; my daughters tend to avoid my nagging and prying."

She finished chopping the celery and added that to the bowl, along with some shredded cheese. She had the practiced hands of a woman who had been cooking and cleaning for many years. Draco liked to separate the roles of women, men, and servants, so seeing her do this made his nose twitch a bit. He almost felt bad about that fact.

"What are you making?" he asked to keep up conversation (as he was learning to do in the presence of muggles), his eyes on the grey cat that was now coming towards him.

"Tortellini alfredo, Frank's favorite. From scratch." Draco nodded, though he had no idea what tortellini was.

"What's her name?" Draco reached down to the cat at his feet, letting it sniff his fingers gently, decide that he was all right, and put its head against his hand.

"Loki. She likes you."

Draco actually liked cats quite a bit - they tended to understand him on some mysterious level. He scratched the cat behind the ears.

* * *

She had no need to speak to him. In fact, she didn't know if she could without betraying her thoughts.

_Just remember - your thoughts are not safe around me._

He had broken into her mind back there, when they had been cornered by the Death Eater. He'd told her to retrieve the wand out of his pocket. He'd called her Hermione, and he'd sounded pleasant.

In her mind, he had almost sounded normal.

She had been waiting for him to try it again now that they were back on solid ground.

What was the magic behind such a trick? There were strict laws against telepathy in the wizarding world; it was one of the laws that could only be suspended during wartime. Besides, telepathy wasn't the same thing as what she had felt back there. It was more like... his soul was speaking. She couldn't hear the words as much as she could feel them; she understood them as emotions and intentions more than words.

Telepathy leaves a trail anyway, and could not be engaged in unless a certain spell is performed with the other person. The spell itself is illegal to perform without a Ministry official present; privacy rights apparently had something to do with that.

She wondered if this different magic was how, a year before, the Death Eaters had found her and her friends when they were miles away from Bill and Fleur's wedding.

Feeling around for the shower nobs, she turned them until the water sounds stopped... oh yes, this was why she had been in the shower for twenty minutes:

She didn't want to face that room... with that one bed. She didn't want to think about later in the day, didn't want to hyperventilate because she had no idea what time it was and how many hours she had left before she had to face it... because there were so many things he could do with this, so many things that could go wrong for her now.

She couldn't even be happy about the fact that she was once again in civilization, and once again had others, besides Draco, to talk to. They were in a large city, a _very_ large city, and it would be impossible to find them here; she had wanted that as well.

So what would he do? Would he make her sleep on the floor? Would he demand that she sleep on the bed because of her injuries as some ploy to make her uncomfortable and thus unable to sleep? After all, there was no way Draco Malfoy would let his delicate little arse touch a carpeted floor, much less a wood one. She'd have back pain in the morning, and would probably be cold all night... the possibilities looked grim. What ever the case, one thing was certain - he would never do anything to show that he cared about her.

A towel had been placed on the toilet sometime during her shower; it hadn't been there when she'd tripped over the thing earlier.

* * *

_Author's note:_ Remember that the cover art for this story is at my deviantART account. See my profile page for the link. Ideas are always welcome!


	12. It's Dangerous Business

_"The mind is its own place, and in itself  
__Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."_ _- John Milton, __Paradise Lost_

**Chapter Twelve: It's Dangerous Business Walking Out Your Front Door**

Hermione struggled with toweling off her hair, knowing that her usual method - rub the towel all around - was going to be more troublesome than semi-wet hair. Now she remembered what it was like to be blind, what it was like to move around a foreign place without any idea where she was going. During the ride on the boat, Hermione had basically felt her way to four places - the kitchen, the bathroom, the cargo hold, and the top deck. She had just begun to feel comfortable moving around the boat when they arrived in Bergen. When she thought of Norway she did not immediately think of Bergen; in fact, she didn't know much about the country at all, besides the fact that it was mountainous and beautiful. She tried not to think about that, because she would not be enjoying the sights anytime soon.

She did not need to be reminded of what she was without. Traveling was something she had always wanted to do; she couldn't bear the thought that the one chance she got to travel, she couldn't see the scenery.

"... Hermione?" It was Sasha's voice. Hermione opened her eyes, earning a gasp and a few seconds of silence.

Cursing silently, Hermione automatically bowed her head in embarrassment and shame. Her rashness about the sunglasses had frightened her host.

"... Are you blind, dear?"

She nodded, trying not to acknowledge the tightening of her throat and the prickling of her eyes. She hadn't had an opportunity to talk to someone about her condition. She suspected that Tim knew, but he hadn't said anything to her.

Arms circled her shoulders, wrapping her in a hug that smelled of rosemary and muggle lotion. "I'm sorry, honey."

Hermione nodded again, knowing she was going to cry. She was finally getting the comfort that she had wanted from the beginning, finally being allowed her release. She wouldn't dare cry in front of Draco, whether he was asleep or away or not.

"What's going on, Mum?"

"Nothing, Jesse. Hermione here is going to help me make dinner. Would you like that, honey?"

She was five years old again, being consoled for scraping her knee; she couldn't fathom the strangeness of her first impression with Frank's family. She nodded again, trying to wipe her bottomless eyes.

She felt Draco enter the room, coming from behind her and the direction of where she had stumbled from. She pushed down her panicked breaths as she thought about herself clambering around the little room, knocking into corners and trying to dry her skin and hair. Hadn't she been naked at some point in there? Why hadn't he made his presence known to warn her? Instead of feeling the disgust that she knew she should have felt, her attempts to suck up her tears turned into embarrassment.

Draco crossed his arms. "What happened?"

Sasha shook her head. "Nothing to worry about." She ushered Hermione into the kitchen, where the smell of thick cream sauce and pepper made her lift her head. She stood there, silently trying to collect herself while Sasha stirred the tortellini and watched as they floated to the top of the boiling water. Minutes passed; Hermione was grateful for the companionable silence and the knowledge that she finally had company. She hated being weak; she was supposed to be a strong person.

"I don't want to pry," Sasha began.

"It's a long story," Hermione said quietly.

"Well, we've oodles of time, because I am _not_ letting you out of my sight in your condition; that poor lad definitely had his hands full with you." Hermione's heart twisted a bit. She hated being a burden, even on Draco.

"Thank you for your concern."

"Of course. Now how did it happen?"

"I... was being chased down. They were going to kidnap me - this organization - and get information out of me in order to disrupt our government... Draco saved me from them, and we went into hiding. They blinded me for it."

Sasha shrugged, her face worrisome and frowning, as she stirred the sauce quickly. "That wasn't too long."

"Well, it's not that simple... Draco used to be a part of this terrorist group, but they imprisoned him because they doubted his loyalty. He escaped and is seeking revenge. We're going to expose them and put them to justice." Hearing their mission out loud made it seem preposterous, like something out of an adventure novel staring the two young heroes as they embarked on a dangerous journey to rid the world of evil. Hermione was Frodo Baggins, and Draco was Samwise Gamgee. She was Luke Skywalker, and he was Han Solo.

Well, considering her blindness, all of that was probably the other way around. Hermione Granger, the smart girl that she was, was once again reduced to sidekick status. It wasn't a new thing, though during her journey with Harry it had been difficult to bear. And this was different:

This was two people against the world. They had _no one _to help them, no one crazy enough to join them. Not even the Order, not even the Ministry.

"Do you like tortellini?"

"What?"

"I asked if you liked tortellini."

Hermione wiped her eyes in as dignified a fashion as she could muster. "Yes. What kind did you make?"

"Cheese, of course. The meat ones don't always cook right when I make them from scratch."

Hermione nodded. She hadn't had a female conversation with anyone in years; she wasn't really sure how to.

"Oi, Mum."

"Jess. This is Hermione." Hermione faced the direction of Jesse's voice.

Jesse was tall and thin like her mother, with unremarkable brown hair sheared off below her shoulders and a strong chin. Her voice sounded older than her twenty four years; while Hermione saw none of Jesse, she felt as though she were standing in the presence of a wise and responsible adult.

Jesse took her hand and squeezed it by pressing her thumbs into Hermione's palm; the girl's hands were rough. Hermione stumbled a bit as Jesse's arm around her shoulder caught her off-guard.

"Dinner is almost ready. Jess, would you mind putting the diced potatoes in the sauce for me? I've got my hands full of colander."

* * *

Everything was less than before. He just hadn't seen it when she first disappeared.

France, Nora had said. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was combing the area, searching for her. They had some leads, some dead ends. A new piece of evidence here, some identity confirmations there.

It was too confusing, too taxing. Harry was going to explode.

There was a knock on the door, and then a creaking as Ginny stepped in.

She was the first example. He hadn't realized how much Ginny cared about Hermione until she went missing; Ginny's once fiery eyes had dulled, and her skin had ceased to glow. Without warning, the girl sat on the bed next to him and threw her arms around his shoulders. He didn't realize that she was kissing him for several seconds. "Make this go away," she whispered against his neck after he'd pried himself away enough to breathe. "Make me feel alive. I don't want to feel like this anymore."

"If I knew how - "

"I think you know." Her eyes regained some fire. They were almost black in the gloom.

Harry's breath caught. Yes, he did know. "The circumstances - "

"Make it awkward and forced, I know. I just want to forget for a little while. Make it go away."

As tempting as that sounded, Harry knew an invitation to escape when he heard one. He'd done that too many times to not see it now. He calmly removed her from his lap, knowing that she would be hurt by the gesture.

"My mind isn't right," he said. "I'm sick of loss, too. But we have to power through it."

"I don't want to power through it. I want to escape. I want to forget, _obliviate_. I want to have her back and this to be over and her to lecture me about my crappy arithmancy skills and laugh about Ron. I want to braid her hair while she reads some huge book about some obscure charm from the Middle Ages. I want her to smile knowingly at us..."

"... And you want Draco Malfoy to bleed."

She nodded, her face now in his shirt. Ginny was not the crying type. It was a rare thing to comfort her like this.

"It's not him," Harry murmured, almost to himself. "If he was her enemy, then she'd be dead and he'd pop up on the radar again. Besides, the Death Eaters see him as an enemy now."

His voice had taken on the logical quality it had when ever he tried to puzzle out some mystery or contemplate intentions and culprits. "_Shut it._ I don't want to hear logic. It makes too much sense; I just want to fantasize about his death and be done."

He shook his head. "It doesn't work that way."

Ginny sniffed and leaned away from him. "You're really bad at this comforting thing."

"I know."

"I just want to be the weak little girl for a while. It makes me feel better."

Harry could understand that. He'd been strong his entire life, bottling up anger and sadness and fear, pushing it all aside in order to do what he had to do. He had priorities, and those never included his emotions. "Me too."

They sat in silence, Ginny staring, unseeing, at her feet.

What else had affected them so? Not even Sirius' death created so much gloom. He wondered at this. Why was it that he missed Hermione so much, like a piece of him was removed and carried away by a conniving prat with blond hair?

Because he was guilty.

Yes, guilty of forgetting about her, guilty of taking advantage of her and her knowledge. Guilty of underestimating her and under-appreciating her.

Now where was she? Gone, and now they knew of the loss. Aunt Petunia had once said that everything happens for a reason. Harry had always said if that was the case, she shouldn't yell at him so much; nothing happened for a reason. Things happened because not everyone in the world had the kind of morals they had.

"Wait; you want to be a weak little girl?"

Harry looked up at her. She had been staring at him, a note of mirth in her eyes. He allowed himself a smile. "That's not what I said."

"I'm pretty sure you said 'me too.'"

"I'm pretty sure you have it confused."

Ginny crossed her arms, her mouth twisting into a smirk. "I'm pretty sure you can't own up to it."

"I'm pretty sure... your face."

She laughed an actual laugh, and the sound was musical, breaking through the tar-like air. Harry grinned. "See? I made you feel better." It was a start. They would have to go from there, because even though he did not want to lose hope... there was always that possibility that they'd be forever waiting for Hermione to come back to them. It was almost easier to deal with her loss if they started early.

* * *

Dinner was wonderful; the tortellini dish that Sasha had made was a hit, filling them up nicely. Frank looked especially grateful as he dug into his third helping; food on the ship had consisted mainly of bread and canned soup with some fresh fruit in the mornings, depending on the number of days away from land. Tim wasn't a believer in great eating on a smuggling ship.

Jesse and Amy conversed in French for a bit as Jesse tested the other girl on vocabulary; Tim kept Hermione occupied with talk about the scenery. So Draco was left staring at his plate as he chewed.

Something about this house made him sad. It might have been the family in it and their collection of family portraits and pictures on the walls; it might have been the lightness of the air or the ease of everyone's smiles. He hadn't been around this kind of thing since... since Hogwarts.

The world had gone on existing while his life had turned to shit.

Draco looked up to watch the family, see how it operated, see what made it happy. Why did these parents love their kids? Why was Sasha so smitten with her daughters? Amy looked like a troublemaker; she had bright cherry hair and thick black eyeliner under an eyebrow piercing; as she began to speak English he discovered that she had a tongue piercing as well. Jesse, who was pretty though not in a conventional way, looked almost like Hermione in her uptight-ness. Frank, as Draco knew, was hard to approach but almost foolishly generous when presented with an opportunity to help. Sasha reminded Draco strongly of Weasley's mum; she had the same kind of motherly air to her.

What was it that held this family together? Was this considered normal?

"So I was watching this show on the telly about cattle farms - you know the guy who does the dirty jobs?"

"The show is called 'Dirty Jobs'."

"Shut it. Anyway, they treat the cows like little princesses! They load them up onto a carousel and put food in front of them, and then hook this machine up to the utters. And the cows were all like, 'mooo' - "

"And they actually shook their heads like that, too? You watch too much TV."

"No I don't. You're going to run someone through with that sword one day."

"Hopefully I'll get the chance. There are people out there who deserve it." Jesse glanced at Hermione, who was once again wearing sunglasses. Hermione must have told her about how she became blind. Draco turned to Hermione.

"This isn't a field trip, remember."

Whatever she had been about to say didn't come out. She turned in his direction. "I know that. Forgive me for trying to escape from everything for a nice, warm dinner with a wonderful family." Her slight emphasis on the word _warm_ was not lost on him. Surely she wasn't being snotty about the bread and water they had eaten before Frank had taken them in?

Draco shook his head. "I wasn't talking about that. We have to get you cured, meaning that we need to find a way to get to China."

"An airplane would be the obvious thing."

Draco grumbled something about "muggle flying cans."

"I suppose you have a better way, then?"

He didn't, of course. "We'll figure something out."

* * *

After dinner, everyone went their separate ways. Amy went to her room and started blaring music; Jesse went back outside despite the growing darkness. Tim said his goodbyes to Frank and Sasha, then left in his car.

Draco was temporarily relieved of his guard-duty of Hermione as Sasha treated Hermione's wounds a little better, replacing the bandages and cleaning the scabs with some more hydrogen peroxide. Hermione had ripped off the old bandages before her shower; the hot, torrential water had pealed off some of the scabs. Draco resolved to give her some panacea sap after she was done.

Suddenly he remembered why he'd been dreading coming back into the room.

"Thank you very much, Sasha," Hermione said as the older woman steered her into the room. "The old ones were gross."

"No problem dear... you two sleep well. Breakfast is at nine."

She felt Draco in the room and felt the tenseness in the air. The air was thick with some kind of horrifying thought, and if she was not mistaken, they were completely on the same page now.

Hermione jumped as the door slammed, and she was left alone with him.

* * *

_Author's note_: There is new story artwork in the making. If you have any suggestions, don't hesitate to let me know.


	13. Shifted Dimensions

_"Perception creates our reality." - Ethel Diamond_

**Chapter Thirteen: Shifted Dimensions**

What was she to say to him? What were they to say to each other?

This was the type of thing that people like them - long time enemies, thrust together with a common goal - should never have to deal with. She would be exploding into a million pieces any second now.

He hadn't moved either. The air in the room was still, as if the rest of the furnishings were holding their breath as they watched the two.

What would it mean if she were to speak first? He had obviously been dreading the moment as well. Would he pounce on her for thinking about such a thing as the fact that there is only one bed for them to sleep in? Was there a chair somewhere in the room that she would be curling up in? When they were on the boat, Draco had moved his cot next to the door as to be as far away from her as possible. And they had a limited amount of space to deal with - it hadn't been the biggest of boats. What did that mean now? Would it be the same situation - he wouldn't want her sleeping anywhere near him?

He was breathing, she realized. She could hear him breathing. He wasn't just some wallpaper in her life, some texture to listen to and fear, ignore and hate. He was actually there, breathing, moving, standing behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders as he steered her towards the bed.

Involuntarily, her breath caught. What? What was he doing? Was he taking her coat off?

As the fabric slid to the floor, Draco made no move to catch it; his hands lingered on her arms briefly.

"Get some sleep. I'm going to take a walk."

She didn't move, only sitting when he applied pressure to the back of her neck. She couldn't hear anything besides her own heart as it resonated in her body. She could feel the force of it move her slightly on the covers - _thump thump, thump thump, thump thump..._

He was gone.

The breath she had been holding never came out. She lay down, still wearing the rest of her clothes, still shoeless, still wounded. _Still Hermione_.

Apparently, no amount of fun by the pond... nor caring for chest wounds... nor helping with surroundings could change that. What had she been hoping?

She was crying now, wishing that her heart would stop beating so loudly, wishing that she could breathe better; her lungs wouldn't fill with enough air to supply the rest of her body, let alone her heart. She had wanted something, anything, to take up the space that she had reserved for the fight that would be a prelude to getting sleep. She had pictured his idiotic argument, and then her decisive counterargument, and the agreement that followed. She hadn't expected to be left alone.

And why did it matter? She got what she wanted - a place to sleep without him making her feel like shit... except that wasn't exactly true.

By leaving her like that, he'd done something. He'd crushed her a bit.

So much for crushing that crystal heart as she had planned; the piece of slate that sounded so real behind her, so alive behind her, was still dripping tar. She'd done nothing.

Whatever other thoughts she had, about hoping that perhaps he would be okay with sleeping with her, she tried not to think about. Contemplating those things she tried to brush away in her own mind just made it even harder to stop the blockage in her throat.

* * *

Air was all he could think about.

Now he understood why the room had felt so distinctly muggle like. It had nothing to do with the fact that it was a muggle house - it had everything to do with her.

He'd always felt so careful around muggles, so wary of them. Muggles suffocated him because he had the entire secrecy of his world's existence resting on his shoulders when he was around them. The magical world made him feel free.

Hermione was the same way - he was careful around her. He was wary of her. She suffocated him because he had himself to hide from her, his real self.

But around her, he was in some sort of bubble. He couldn't feel the edges of this bubble, he couldn't break away from it. It was like the cells in his body were drawn to her, like gravity. She pulled him in while he tried to escape. Her presence closed the fist around his throat.

He shook this thought away as he came to stand before the sliding glass door that led outside. "'Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary...'" he quoted under his breath.

Someone was out there in the moonlight, moving quickly with a sword; Draco watched the pattern dance Jesse performed, her hair tied up, her shirt tucked under her bra. She looked to be a million years away; he could not really see her.

Why did Hermione make him suffocate?

He wanted to blame it on magic. Some dirty muggleborn trick, it was; being around them too much made you ache. Some kind of... spell or something.

_Blind, and with no wand? Wandless magic is fueled by emotions._

He didn't want to hear logic, nor did he to hear his parents talking to him now. _Everything has a cause, whether that cause be you or some external force. You'll know when it is completely out of your control; everything else you can blame on yourself and yourself only._

Or maybe... it was the other way around. She could understand - she could be that person that just _knew_. Maybe the world made him wary, made him careful. Life made him too careful. But with her, there was nothing to hide; he could be free.

_With her_. Ugh, just the sound of that. "With" her. Not just "taking charge" of her or "babysitting" her because he had nothing better to do. Actually being _with _her. He had to hide his face in his hands. Since when had he started to think of Granger as "her" and not "Granger"? "Her" implies that she was a person as well; "Granger" implies "that one mudblood that hangs around Potter."

She was no person that he could... _be_ with, surely. A person that made him feel a little lightheaded and a little less like a scoundrel. It's not like she had openly declared that he wasn't a plague in human form, but... she didn't yell at him for being awful anymore. She didn't lecture him nearly as much as he'd thought she would. In fact, she hadn't really talked to him at all for the past week, unless it was to share a curt word or two.

The most she'd said was when they'd argued about taking on the Death Eaters... something he didn't really want to think about. There were people out there that deserved his hate, like them, but also people who deserved everything good in the world. He refused to let himself elaborate on that and recognize those people - specifically her. He was a great one for procrastinating in order to maintain his sanity.

As he turned away from the door, he thought he saw a flash of blue light coming from the backyard; when he turned around, Jesse was sheathing the sword.

* * *

He'd lain down on the bed sometime while she was sleeping. He'd put her under the covers.

And he'd probably seen the tear stains on her cheeks, her red ears, the pink circles framing her eyes.

She knew what she looked like when she cried - it was not a pretty sight. Crying made her feel... distinctly ugly.

Waking up, she could tell that he wasn't in the room. She felt the spot next to her, smoothing her hand over the flattened sheets and upturned comforter beside her. Yes, he had slept in the bed last night.

A small part of her mind shouted a loud curse. She had missed it, with her crying and her exhausted, black sleep. _Missed it_.

Perhaps it was just as well. What would she have done if she had felt him climb in beside her? Would she have been unable to sleep, being too aware of the heat radiating off him? For such a prick, he really was warm. She had, when they were still in the forests in England, rather have curled up against his chest than lie down on the damp grass.

Jesse came in. "Mum sent me in to help you get ready. Do you have a clean pair of pants? A shirt?"

It took Hermione a couple seconds to process the word "help." Jesse patiently let her get used to the word.

"I don't think so."

"I thought as much... here are some of my clothes. They were mine a few years ago; they should fit you fine. I'm quite a bit taller than you." There was a smile in her voice.

Hermione really loved these people; either they were the way that humans were supposed to be, or she really did still look terrible. "It's not hard to be."

Jesse dressed her with patient hands, not seeming too repulsed by her grotesque scabs and bruises or shy about her naked form. Hermione however was one to cover herself up; the sunlight on her bare skin made her feel vulnerable. She was more of a winter type, the type of girl that tended to have a better glow when it was snowy. Rainy cold made her look sick and gray, and sunlight made her look like a boiled egg.

"Don't be shy about your body, Hermione. Guys like a girl with self-confidence."

She wanted to retort with some kind of indignant huff about her _not_ being interested in impressing boys, but nothing came out. It wasn't like she hadn't heard that one before. "I have self-confidence," she replied instead.

Jesse shook her head as she buttoned Hermione's shirt. "I'm not talking about confidence in abilities. I've got a body like an ironing board and practice four hours a day with a sword and Tim still thinks I'm the sexiest little thing out there. You have to be proud about what you are blessed with... you are in desperate need of a bra."

Hermione shook her head - the need wasn't _that_ desperate. Tank tops usually did the trick for her, even though when they loosened up halfway through the day, she had a little bit of tickling... bounce action. "You practice four hours a day with a sword?"

"An arming sword. I'm training with a broadsword but my arming sword is my best. Let me get you a bra, girlie." Jesse dashed out of the room.

Swordplay was more of a wizard pastime; the muggle world associated swordplay with renaissance faires and live action role playing, and only took it seriously in the form of fencing competitions or kung-fu movies. Meanwhile, magic swords were some of the most popular relics to collect, and it was not uncommon to see a wizard household that owned one.

After Jesse harangued Hermione into the bra and finished with her shirt, the two came out to the dinner table, where Sasha was setting out a tea pot. Hermione felt a lot better than she had in a while; fresh clothes and a bra made her feel like she was once again part of civilization.

* * *

"They're buying it."

Master No Name nodded, swirling the last of the wine in her glass around. She finished it and set the glass down lightly. "But not for long. Eventually they will wonder why there is no more physical evidence to point them in the direction we want. What's the closest wand shop to Brussels?"

"Bobby's place, I think."

She nodded. This whole fabrication was making everything complicated. While they had no leads besides a town to show them where Malfoy and the Granger girl really were, they had to set up a fake location for the Ministry so they weren't in the way. "Get Bobby to contact the Ministry with more crap. In the meantime, see to it that the apparatus construction goes on schedule. We may need Worthington to give us another crate if we fail again, and that's already too much money that I don't want to fork over. It does not do well to be wasteful."

"Indeed, Master. This is the new recruit, by the way."

Master No Name turned to the new guy; he looked disturbingly like Draco Malfoy, though was definitely older. The resemblance startled her for a few seconds before her mask slid into place once more.

"There is only one thing you need to know about me that I will tell you - I am not 'Mistress.' Do you know why?"

The man kept eye contact, something that Krokesh, Rubinoff's old partner, would never have done. Master No Name usually terrified new recruits, though she wasn't nearly as cruel as The Dark Lord.

"Sex does nothing for respect in this world. Although you all realize that yes, I am a woman, you won't dare bring this fact to light. Being your mistress would be like being your bitch; being your master is being your leader. And I'm nobody's bitch."

The man stood in stunned silence, now fearful when he wasn't previously. Master No Name grinned.

"I like ranting, as you'll find. We are a tight bunch here, you'll fit right in." She nodded, signalling that they could leave.

She loved scaring the snot out of new recruits, especially the ones that came willingly.

"Rubinoff? In the matter of Hermione Granger, it is time that we cast a wider net. Start checking coasts, boats, and flights. We will find them."

* * *

"I just wish we knew who we are dealing with."

Neville shook his head slowly. "I've never been the greatest wizard, Harry, but I know lies when I hear them. This whole thing stopped making sense ages ago. Either they are very careful or we are relying on sources that we shouldn't."

"I trust Nora, Neville."

"As do I, with my life. But who knows about the witnesses? Death Eaters are conniving little pricks, after all. They could be feeding us crap in the hopes that they find Hermione first."

"And the only clue we have to this woman's identity is that... she has none."

Neville nodded, his face blank.

"That is some straight up_ bullshit_."

"I know. Who even knows what that means."

One thing that made no sense was the fact that Hermione was still in Draco's custody; Harry knew his Hermione - she was a fighter until the very last stand. She would always be trying to get away from him, no matter what her ailment was. So why was she still with him? Why was everyone saying that they looked like lovers, or best friends, or brother and sister?

And why in the world would Draco ever choose to travel south? If he was running from the world, he would want to go north, or west. He would want to go to the United States, or Iceland, or even Canada. Even better, he would try Mexico, whose distance and lack of a magical population in magnitude and bulk, like Europe, made it hard for the Ministry to reach. And if Mexico, why not further south? Why not some small village in Chile?

By staying in Europe, he was increasing the chances that he would be found by the wrong people on _both_ fronts. Even he had payed attention during the study of government fifth year... he _knew_ better than this.

"Should we tell Nora that we have doubts?"

"What would it matter? The evidence we have is pointing to Belgium now. They appear to be following a definite path. We can't tell her to look elsewhere because we have a hunch that this is a hoax."

Neville nodded again. "The _Prophet _sides with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Going against their investigation without evidence is political suicide."

Harry hated the world he lived in sometimes, where honest people like he and Hermione constantly got victimized by a closed-minded world. "This is not my first suicide attempt Neville, yet here I stand."


	14. No Memory

_"Let's not forget that the little emotions are the great captains of our lives and we obey them without realizing it." -Vincent Van Gogh_

**Chapter Fourteen: No Memory**

She could think in the garden for some reason; being inside the house, with that family and that smooth piano and that shower and that bed... just made her want to choke. Even going to _Galleriet_ today made her head swim - all the noise and bustling around her was suffocating. She'd had to latch onto Draco's arm immediately to remind herself of who she was. Draco, really, was all she had left of her former existence.

She tried not to think about how ungrateful she was being. She was indulging herself a lot lately.

When she was young, she used to have a woods behind her house, behind the garden. There were wide steps leading steeply to a small, rusted gate, and nothing but wilderness beyond. She used to explore with her friend from the neighborhood trailing along. They used to fight with sticks, climb the trees, and race among the trodden foliage and twisting branches. When Hermione's parents insisted she do more "ladylike" things when she came home with dirty fingers and scratched arms, she gathered leaves and grass and made leafy salads, peppering them with a wild strawberry or two. She read about all the different plants, finding what berries are safe to eat and which gave her a stomach ache. She drew pictures of mystical animals she thought made special holes in the ground, or a peculiar series of scratches on a tree.

The forest reminded her so much of home... her trips to the lake with her mum and dad, the woods behind her old house. In truth, she missed the feeling of the grass under her feet, the feeling of the cool, moist air swirling around her. Sure, the grass made her sneeze and the damp air made her hair expand, but it all made her feel... clean. And whole.

But there was something she wasn't acknowledging - the hole in her heart that had started so big and was now shrinking rapidly.

When was the last time she had thought about what she was leaving behind in London? It had been a week at least; when she had first been kidnapped by Draco she had thought about Ron and Harry and the Order almost constantly. Now it was more than far away - it didn't exist anymore.

Hermione tucked her legs in, hugging them to her chest. Who knew she could feel secure in a stranger's home with an icy bodyguard and nothing but her own skin to hold her together?

What she was starting to think, to believe, was scaring her. Why was it that she had stopped trying to escape? Why did she not want to tell Frank's family that she was a captive, and why did the fact that she was ultimately a captive not seem to matter anymore?

Why was she feeling this way about him? Why had she agreed to help him?

_Is this... is this Stockholm Syndrome? Is this what is happening? Or is this real?  
_

"It's getting late," Draco said from behind her; she jumped.

"Why must you do that?" she said angrily, standing up. She shook her head in her haughty manner and walked forward determinedly, hoping that she didn't hit a fence or a tree or something.

He chuckled.

"You go ahead and get off on my misfortune. See if I care."

He could hear that she wasn't actually that angry, but he turned around and walked into the house anyway. She wanted to be alone, and he probably shouldn't have intruded... not that he was one to respect personal space.

"Who does he think he is?" he heard her mutter from behind him.

* * *

"Flashing lights," he said softly, "in the distance. That's all I can see from here."

"Of course. We still have another hour before we get there."

"Shush," Rubinoff said, lifting up his hood. "We're not welcome here; there are Ministry spies everywhere, even on the water."

The trainee nodded and continued to watch the lights dance in the distance. They had been ordered to sweep the coastal cities in England and then move on the the islands. "Do you really expect to find anything? There are millions of places they could be."

"Master knows that. But we will search anyway, because they are bound to make a mistake sometime. We will have them then, and then we can continue with our original plan - "

"Couldn't Master just find someone else to fill the part? That's what I would have done, instead of wasting time finding _one girl._"

Rubinoff was beyond angry now. Trainees always pissed him off, but this one was not only annoying - he was also one of those creative ones, one of the trainees that thought he could run the business better than the pros. "No. Master knows what she is doing, and we _never_ question her."

Angelface smiled. "It's okay to - "

"_No._ You don't know her methods, _junior_. She can scan through your mind like a teenage boy flipping through a twins edition of _Playwizard_. This is your life now; the life doesn't stop until Master says so."

Thoroughly silenced, Angelface turned his gaze back on the lights. In a few hours, it would be daylight, and they could really begin their search.

* * *

She could feel him this time, feel the warmth that came off his skin. It was just as she had imagined, against her will, the night before. He was tense as well - he hadn't moved for the longest time. She couldn't hear his breath, couldn't hear his heart, couldn't feel his chest expand and contract.

He was stone, and she was jelly.

She wondered if his eyes were open or closed; he definitely was not asleep.

_He will leave,_ she realized. _Of course he will. This is the kind of thing that he likes to avoid - anything emotional. Surely he can feel my thoughts, even if he can't read them._

Her heart jumped suddenly as she felt him let out the breath that he had been holding - he was relaxing slowly.

_What is this? Surely... surely he can feel this as well._

Hermione tried to strengthen her resolve. She knew better than this - she knew better than to hope for something. And what was she hoping for? She refused to acknowledge it. Saying it, even in her head, made it more real.

"Would you _stop_ shivering?" he said suddenly.

She jumped; she hadn't realized that she had been shivering. She wasn't even cold. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize - just stop."

"Sorry."

He shook his head and squirmed a little bit more under the blanket. He looked at the clock - it was only 10:30, and there was no way he was sleeping tonight.

* * *

"Bugger," she said, feeling for the edges of her shirt. Jesse had left her a button up shirt this morning and expected her to put it on _herself_.

"You're getting better," Jesse said unconvincingly. "Think of it like dressing in the dark."

Hermione nodded and pressed a finger on either side of the seam. That... that felt like a hole.

"Nope. That's the same one you just tried."

"F... fudge."

"I don't mind cursing, Hermione. Let out your anger. _Give into your anger, Luke_."

Hermione smiled a bit at the muggle joke and felt for the next one down. This straightened out her shirt finally - five minutes for one shirt! That had to be a record!

She suddenly couldn't breathe.

Jesse stopped as well; how long had the music been playing before they had noticed? She could not recognize the tune, and even if she did she will have never heard it played in this way before. She walked towards the door, not caring if she hit a wall, not caring if there was anything in her way. She had to know for sure.

Yes, he was. He was playing the piano.

Of course she shouldn't have been surprised; most upper-class families, at least upper class wizard families for sure, had members that learned to play instruments like the piano or the cello from an early age. It was just... it suited him ridiculously. Of course he played the piano, like of course he was a Seeker and of course he was a Slytherin. It seemed to be as much a part of him as any shade of green and silver.

Her footsteps were interrupting the music, though they weren't interrupting him - he continued to play, though through the music she could feel that he knew she was standing there. Which direction was it? Where was he?

She had to stand there. She couldn't walk anymore. Not until he was finished.

It took forever. She couldn't hear the notes by themselves - she couldn't hear the tune by itself. It was musical noise in her ears. Her brain couldn't even process it.

He stopped abruptly, right in the middle of a string of notes. Having her there was just too much for him - his music was something that Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor bookworm, should never have the opportunity to know about. His music was something that no one knew about, not even people like Blaise Zabini or Pansy.

... Did he have anyone he could share himself with?

He got up and went into the kitchen, not caring if she was disoriented, not caring if she was standing in the middle of a room filled with sharp objects with no eyes to guide her. He just did not _care_ at the moment. He...

He had to get out. Out of the house for a bit.

He passed her again on his way to the garden door; she hadn't moved.

"He's quite good, isn't he?" Jesse said from behind her.

Hermione nodded sadly. Too good to be wasted on a prick like him, too good to be wasted on a former Death Eater and former tormentor. She wanted to think this - she wanted to cover it with that and be done, without thinking about how much effortlessness and peace went into the sound. She knew her music - she knew her performers. There were musicians who played and you could hear their practice hours and pages of sheet music and notes... and then there were musicians whose music sounded like it came out of their pores.

He was the latter, the kid unwilling to sit still long enough to learn a piece turned into a man who used music to keep himself sane. She could hear it. It was his glue.

"Yes, he is good."

Jesse took her hand and led her away in the correct direction.

* * *

They were getting close. And so was the enemy.

Harry looked at the swirling memory in the pensieve in front of him. It belonged to a Norwegian priest.

His heart wanted to skip. It wanted to thump wildly against his chest. He wanted to sigh in relief and apparate over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to get a team together. But he could not be hopeful and he knew it.

"How long has he been dead? Since what time?" Nora Constable opened her notebook.

Harry looked at the wall clock. "At least a few hours. And I know why." He turned to Neville. "Take a look in here."

Neville put his face in the pensieve, trusting Harry enough to do this without question.

"Why does the memory shut off so fast?" Nora asked. As soon as they could identify Hermione, everything went bright white, like a blank page.

"They have it. It's the only explanation."

"But _how_ did they get it? It would take... a seriously gifted person to delete that specific a part of his memory. And they would have been careful not to kill him because that would draw attention to him."

Neville surfaced. "He's probably bait then. To see if we know more than they do."

Harry smiled a bit, obviously impressed. "You're getting the hang of how it works, Neville. Well done."

"Shall we go for the bait and see what happens?"

"That's what they'll hope, and will expect. I think we should take it, but be cautious."

"Yes... we should keep this quiet. Just us and a few trusted friends, no one in the Ministry. Just in case."

Harry nodded. This was too delicate a lead to risk compromising to the moles that were probably still in the Ministry. What was interesting was the fact that they'd had evidence to show that Hermione was in France, then Belgium... and suddenly they had hard evidence that she was in Norway? It was too strange. Neville had probably been right from the beginning - the Death Eaters were getting _really_ sneaky.

"This is why we trust memories over all other kinds of evidence."

Harry turned to Nora. "Yes. This is why."

"So what shall we do? Perhaps a small non-Ministry spy sent to check around?"

"A scout... a muggle one. Just tell him what is necessary and nothing else; nothing to give us away in case he gets captured."

Nora nodded, closing her notebook and vanishing it. "You boys are a real asset to us."

"Thank you." Harry emptied the contents of the pensieve into a glass vial and put it in his inside shirt pocket. "This memory is vital to the prosecution of Draco Malfoy as well. We now have indisputable evidence that he is her captor and that he is working alone."

"Yes... I didn't detect any signs of abuse from Hermione, or from the glimpse I saw of her... but I suppose with a captor like Malfoy, the wounds are beneath the surface."

Harry shouldered on his coat. "She's very strong, Nora. I'm sure she's not letting him get to her."


	15. The Downward Spiral

_"The only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain." - Karl Marx_

**Chapter Fifteen: The Downward Spiral**

Getting through the night became the easy part.

Getting through the day... there was so much more time for them to butt heads, and so much more time for them to be awkward towards each other. She spent most of her day trying to avoid him, but it was impossible; she would think that she had escaped, and then... she would _feel_ him. Feel him enter the room, feel him stop and realize that she was there as well, and then feel him try to act unaffected.

Why could she _feel_ him? It was strange. She knew that her lack of sight probably had a hand in heightening her other senses, but _blimey_. Surely this had nothing to do with her lack of sight.

She almost constantly wanted to be mad at him and couldn't do it; she needed to remind herself of before, when things were simple. They hated each other and that was it. Simple.

Now things were not so clear.

Draco was so preoccupied with trying to appear like nothing was wrong that he didn't even seem to notice the change in her. The awkwardness was something he thought was created in his own mind, but the more he tried to make it go away, the more it seemed to bother him.

She depended on him to steer her in the correct direction even; he depended on her to be the part of the team that made sure their hosts were comfortable having them around, since he didn't say much. She depended on him to protect her from danger and know when the Death Eaters were coming; he needed her level head at times, her admittedly valuable contributions to their overall plan. He had to force himself to talk to her openly, but they had to come up with a plan. He would not tell her the exact location of the Death Eater camp until they got close, just in case either of them got captured in the meantime, but they would have to formulate an actual plan in order to even dream of success.

"We need to talk," he said to her one morning.

Hermione nodded. Yes, they did need to talk about a lot of things; things that she would rather not for their sensitive nature. She would not get burned though - if he wanted to tell her something - anything - about the strange things happening between them, she would listen, and _then_ tell her side.

"The Death Eaters' weakness is that they require central leadership, rather than working in smaller cells that are capable of operating without the help of central leadership. The key to them is the woman who manages everything - we just call her Master. The Ministry knows her as Master No Name. If we can take her out, then we have them."

Hermione let out a small sigh. Of course he wanted to talk about the mission. Why not? "It's not going to be a cakewalk, for sure."

"She puts a mental block on everyone who is recruited so that if they see her outside of the Death Eaters, they won't recognize her. I'm still working on breaking mine, but it's like trying to remember something that was long forgotten - it's hard to conjure. She's good with memory spells and such - we think she's a Seer as well."

Hermione processed this. The only reason why Master No Name would place a mental block on her own people is that she was around normal citizens every day, in a place where any person in her outfit could recognize her otherwise. She was certainly smart for that. The scary thing about this though is that she could possibly be in a ranking position in the Ministry - controlling both sides of an underground war with a flick of her hand.

"Her gender... means nothing. She could pretend to be a male in public to avoid suspicion."

"Correct. We can suspect no one except for someone with access to some of the things the Death Eaters had access to. She could be a security guard in the Ministry. She knows how to get around the magic surrounding their job."

"She must be very powerful then - it's almost impossible to fool the Ministry security system."

Draco shook his head. "This is the only thing I don't like about the whole 'muggles are dirt' theory. Their technology is impervious to magical probing - the Death Eaters are starting to use that to their advantage, and the Ministry doesn't know it yet."

"Nora always said that Death Eaters overlook things that muggles check first. Crime scene investigators use all kinds of methods to catch people... we wizards are a lazy bunch."

"Indeed. So we need to be more careful than usual." Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek as he fumbled with a way to say the next thing on his mind. "I was also thinking that we should forgo the trip to China and head straight for them, because the longer we wait, the more chance they will have to capture us."

Unable to stop the disappointment from creeping into her voice, she mumbled, "Okay."

Taken aback by her lack of interest in the topic, and whatever he was about to say dissolved, he returned to biting the inside of his cheek.

Hermione shook her head. Things were getting complicated in every way now. Now that they didn't have time for her to reverse the Noctulus Blindness, they were going to have to do all of this with a serious handicap. Hermione was at peace with this however - she realized that she hadn't actually expected to ever get her eyesight back.

* * *

In the effort to avoid each other, Hermione was letting herself go. She needed a distraction - something to focus her brain on anything besides her captor. She found herself digging her fingers into her chest wound.

Hermione hated emotional pain.

She was no stranger to it, but she loathed it anyway.

Of course, she knew what pain was, and that it was mental, but it didn't stop her from wanting to get rid of it. Ever since she had started her fight against dark magic and against evil doers she had received quite a bit of pain. She was nearly killed in the Department of Mysteries. She was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange not a few months ago. And every death they had dealt with took a great toll.

And now this - she couldn't move without aggravating her wounds; the skin around each red and brown patch was pink and angry, forming hills and valleys. She idly traced her finger along one of the scabs, feeling jitters of pain shoot through her in warning. Her body was hard at work to repair the damage, aided by the sap, and it clearly did not want them touching her mending flesh.

For the first time, she wondered if her wounds would leave scars. She did not want to be reminded of that night; of having her mind probed by Draco Malfoy and bitting the collar of her shirt in order to keep from screaming as they feld. From feeling dizzy with pain when they'd finally stopped and delirious as he cleaned her chest.

She would be reminded especially of that - the invasion of personal space, the sensation of each individual indentation in his fingertips as he used his fingers to rub away the dried blood...

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she went outside. Outside still reminded her of him, but at least she had the trees to supply some noise for her.

Jesse was there, moving quickly, her sword slashing through the air. Hermione sat down outside of the door until she was done.

"It's okay, I'm not going to cut your head off," Jesse said breathily, coming over to her. "I've got more control than that."

Hermione smiled and allowed herself to be pulled up and lead to the center of the garden, where the grey stone square was that Jesse used as a practice ground. They sat in silence for a few minutes, breathing in the air and listening to the wind rustle the trees overhead.

"I didn't have to work today, so I thought I'd get in some practice hours."

Hermione nodded - she understood obsession like this. "Your heart cries when you aren't practicing... practice is like refueling."

Jesse quirked her head to the side, stretching her arm muscles. "What is your thing?"

She smiled a bit. "Violin. I was an angry little violinist."

"It shouldn't make you angry."

"It wasn't the violin, or the practicing - I was always frustrated by my lack of perfection. I used to get sweaty after 15 minutes of practice... and everything would start to piss me off. I often had to practice in my underwear so I wouldn't get itched by my clothes; my hair usually irked me then too. I loved playing so much that it drove me crazy that I wasn't perfect at it and that I sometimes couldn't express myself with it."

"What happened?"

Hermione shrugged. "After a few years in school, I stopped playing. I just didn't have time anymore, and it wasn't important enough to sacrifice other priorities for."

Jesse shook her head and fingered the hilt of her sword. "I can understand that a little... but I make time for my sword. I have to. It gives me something to release my anger on."

"_'For that is the path to the dark side...'_" Hermione quoted quietly.

Jesse grinned from ear to ear. "A Star Wars nerd! I knew it!"

Hermione shook her head. "You quote Star Wars every five minutes! I was just trying to imitate you."

Jesse was still grinning. "I'm just excited for the new one coming out soon, that's all. There's nothing wrong with a twenty-four year old woman liking science fiction."

It hit her then - the world would keep turning whether she returned to her friends and family safely or not. In the end, only a few people cared about her safety.

"Hermione... are you okay?"

She nodded, trying to smile. "Yes, I'm fine. I agree with you."

* * *

_His mother would stand by idly, getting her sick satisfaction from his helplessness and receiving revenge for her own selfish misrepresentations._

_His hate was deep for the both of them._

_Every day was full of small power struggles, from something as simple as who passed the salt to heavier things like coursework and Death Eater activities. He was constantly losing these, trying again and again to find the one thing that would make his parents tick and let him get away with something. They were constantly comparing him with people like Harry Potter and Granger. Well, he wasn't like them. They had all been dealt bad hands in ways... but his hand couldn't be folded. He had to sit through the rest of the turn, betting out and out only to face up and know that he lost. And his stack was in the negative._

_It was around the time that this started to really get to him that he started doing things typical of his age - writing down feelings; cutting; attaching himself to a passtime, a security blanket, that could comfort him. His music was his security blanket._

_It was also probably the only thing that his family was remotely impressed with, whether they showed it or not. But no one knew how important it was to him, how much of his soul was held together by the glue of chords and lines of music._

_He realized that he spent almost all of his time coping with stress and no time actually living life. His music, his tormenting, his studies, his dictating... all of it was a form of escaping from shadows, a form of coping with his demons. He'd spent all of his life in a swirling fog of trying to feel better, only to be sucked further down into it._

_Life did nothing for him... he didn't want to die, because he feared it. He just wanted to spend the rest of his life in a pain-free coma._

Draco turned under the covers, facing Hermione. She had gone to sleep quite some time ago, judging by the lack of tenseness in her aura. He looked at her face as moonlight splashed across it in strips, courtesy of the window coverings. She had pink circles framing her eyes, and her nose and cheeks were shiny.

_Unbelievable. I have to sit here thinking about my stupid existence and she can cry herself to sleep? It's not fair._

Draco turned back around, not caring if he woke her up or not. Why did he have to feel such human emotions all the time now?

_So much for my training. I thought I was getting better at it._

_She's been eating away at my emotional walls. I can't believe it. What is she doing to me?_

He tried not to think the thought that wanted to bubble to the surface of his mind. NO, that was not it. That couldn't be it. He didn't trust her that way.

Did he?


	16. Rotting in Place

_"Iron rusts from disuse; water loses its purity through stagnation... even so does inaction sap the vigour of the mind." - Leonardo da Vinci_

**Chapter Sixteen: Rotting in Place**

Eventually, it seemed that life quieted down. The days started to move fast for both of them; before they knew it, they became part of the family, having only been there a few weeks.

However, while the days moved quickly, the nights did not. Now that they had gotten so good at avoiding each other during the day, the nighttime seemed like daily torture. Hermione lied awake for hours, her eyes shut, trying to turn off her senses and trying to quell any impulsive urges she had - like the urge to say something to him or the urge to reach forward and touch him.

She had expected him to leave her alone in the bed every night, only coming in after she was asleep; he apparently did not want to acknowledge the awkwardness between them during the night by trying to avoid the situation. That being said, Hermione could not help but feel an electrifying thrill as one night they actually got into bed at the same time. She'd had to lie completely still for a few minutes to get her mind right.

_This is ridiculous,_ she thought as she turned over on her side. _This is absolutely insane. Please REMIND yourself of who he is and what he has done to you in the past._

They hadn't actually gone outside of the house since their trip to _Galleriet_, or outside at all besides the courtyard-like garden in the back of the house. Hermione found herself spending most of her time there, whether she was by herself, enjoying the cool breeze, or with Jesse as she practiced with her sword.

As for Draco, he found himself bored out of his mind.

_What are we doing here?_ he thought. They had a mission, and even though it was nice to finally feel somewhat safe, it was only a matter of time before the Death Eaters knew where they were. And then everything would be shot to hell.

Hermione being around certainly didn't help; he was having a hard time not thinking about her constantly.

Draco didn't know what to make of that.

He tried to distract himself with other things, but in the end the only thing that could truly distract him was the piano. He hadn't touched it since he had played it the first time, with her standing there. At Malfoy Manor, his piano was in his second room, which was in a secluded wing in the back of the house. His parents were less likely to hear him playing it there, since they mainly stayed in the front of the house, where the dining hall and their rooms were. They'd had the piano put in that room for exactly that reason - they knew better than to disturb him while he was practicing.

He passed by it often - the muggle family had a smaller, less extravagant one than he had, but besides needing a tuning the piano suited his purposes just fine. He found himself sitting down at it a few times, just staring at the keys and imagining that he was in his room.

Sasha happened to walk by as he did this one day; like every day she was constantly doing something, constantly busy with housework or cooking or laundry or something else that should have been left for servants. She set down the folded load of white clothes she was carrying. "I used to play when I was younger. This is my old piano."

Draco nodded, brushing his fingers over the keys.

"Do you play?"

He nodded again, still looking at the keys. It was definitely an older piano, though not as old as his. She'd taken good care of it - it looked like it had been cleaned completely through recently.

"Play me something, love."

He looked up at her face; she had the same sad smile that she tended to wear when she was around them.

Draco didn't know how much he wanted to play in front of another pianist; he had never done that. He played for himself only.

Did he need to impress her? Or would she care? He didn't know these things; everything he did like this had to be perfect at home in order to get any acknowledgement, or even just to avoid infuriating smirks and twitching eyebrows.

He started with his favorite piece to play - something deceptively fast that maintained a slow melody. He didn't look up to watch her face, even though he could have if he wanted to - instead he kept his eyes on the wood of the empty music stand above the keys. In the corner of his mind, he felt Hermione perk up - she was in the room finishing her shower.

When he was done, he closed the lid over the keys.

"Very good... you've expanded on classical training, it seems."

He nodded. "I stopped lessons five years ago."

He looked over - Hermione was standing in the doorway, her hair sopping wet, a towel clenched around her at her collarbone. Her black eyes and white towel, draping over her just so, made her look like a Roman statue.

Draco got up and went over to her to usher her back into the room - how she had managed to get from the bathroom to the bedroom door was beyond him. She was too indecently dressed to be in front of their host.

As he closed the door, Sasha tried to quell her heartbeat. She'd seen the outline of something against his leg, something that looked distinctly and horribly familiar. Like a long, thin stick of wood.

_... They're running from the Death Eaters._

* * *

She didn't know how her heart hadn't burst by now, with all the torture it was being put through constantly. He was leading her somewhere, and she was having a hard time keeping a tight hand clenched over the ends of her towel. She was well aware that her sopping hair was probably getting his shirt wet; the top of her head came just above his chin, and she could feel her hair plastering itself against his neck.

She felt bathroom tiles under her feet as they stopped. "You should put some clothes on," he said shortly.

Hermione nodded, waiting for him to back away from her. He wasn't moving.

It was too hard to put on this face for her, too hard to try to pretend to be a prick around her. Something always got in the way.

She reached behind her tentatively and brushed her wet hair aside, detaching it from his neck and shirt slowly. Draco swallowed audibly. Her hair felt amazing when it was wet. It silkily trailed across his skin, leaving a line of cold, tingling flesh.

"Hermione? Draco?" someone called from the door. "I have something to show you." It sounded like Jesse.

Draco backed away and left without another word; Hermione was left to dress alone in the dark.

* * *

When she finished, Jesse was there to guide her to the garden; she sat down just inside the grey square.

"I think it's time everyone has come clean," said Sasha. Hermione turned her head toward her voice; she had thought that it was Jesse who had something to show.

Leaning on the wall, Draco nodded once. "So you know, then."

"I saw the outline of your wand. And I know the spell that has her eyes like that."

Hermione gasped. "You know about us?"

"I'm a witch, Hermione," Jesse put forth. "You have the same magic aura as I do. I thought as much as soon as we met. And the only terrorist organization that you'd cross the sea to run from would be the Death Eaters."

"There is a problem," Sasha sighed.

Draco looked at his feet. This should have all come as a shock to him but it seemed like nothing surprised him anymore. The magical presence he had felt on Frank's boat hadn't gone away when he had come to the house. "Yes. We need to keep moving."

Sasha shook her head sadly. "That may be true, but not because we don't want you here, but because you won't be safe. By coming here, you've put yourself in more danger than anywhere else."

Hermione straightened her neck, pointing her chin at the sky. There was a blockage forming in her throat; she could not help but feel disappointed. She had gotten too comfortable here, and she knew it now; they still had things to do, still had people after them. People after _her_.

"I'm sure you have wondered why we live so well and only Frank and Jesse work. Frank can be so oblivious sometimes - he wouldn't be making nearly what he is if he were doing the same things for someone else, and he doesn't realize it. He thinks he's just really important. We have to pretend that we don't know to avoid suspicion."

There was silence as Draco mulled this over. "So what are we talking about here? How deep?"

Hermione shook her head. "Wait. Are you saying... that the cargo that Frank ships is for the _Death Eaters?_"

"He's a middleman. He has suppliers in Egypt, Mongolia, and other parts of the world. They pay him to deliver it safely to whoever needs it... and most times, it's not innocent trading."

Hermione shook her head, barely receiving this. "He's a dark artifact trafficker? That's... how do you even get into that business?"

Draco turned to Hermione, taking on a tone he reserved for her when he was annoyed by something she didn't know. "The black magic market usually uses muggle transports. Muggles ask fewer questions. Which supplier is he? What is your surname again?"

"Worthington."

"_Blimey_... you're serious? He's their main source!"

"He's meeting with them overseas this week. If he starts babbling, he'll mention that you two are staying here, and they'll be kicking down our door within minutes."

Cold fear washed over Hermione she rose to her feet abruptly. "I need... I need an owl. Now."

Draco stared at her incredulously. "Don't even think about it. There's nothing they can do."

"But they need to know this - this could bust open the dark artifact market; we could finally stop illegal shipments into England."

"This is a lot bigger than just exposing criminals, Granger. This is our lives we're talking about. I thought we discussed this!"

Hermione shook her head. "This is bigger than _us_. How are we supposed to be the big heroes if we cannot even save the people in front of us? They'd get the best protection as well, and we be dealing a major blow to the Death Eaters if we cut off their trading."

Instead of counter-arguing, Draco smirked. He didn't know she could be conniving enough to know how to indirectly weaken an enemy. It was the type of thing that Death Eaters and Slytherins knew how to do. "You're more devious than you look. It won't be hard for them to find another source. The problem is that they need Worthington for the plan involving _you_. That's what makes this complicated."

"If they know you're here then, Hermione, it will be an early Christmas for them. That means no owling."

Hermione's heartbeat began to slow. It would not do well to be impulsive now - they needed a plan.

Jesse put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. As soon as you told us why you were here, we were preparing for something like this. We are not completely defenseless. I think you need to know this." She jogged to the wall of the house and removed the sword from its hanging position under the overhang. "This is not just a sword."

She unsheathed the sword, letting the long metal blade catch the sun before walking back over to the group. "Traders would queue up in a heartbeat to have this sword."

Draco leaned in to see what she was talking about.

Pushing her thumb against the small jewel on the hilt, Jesse began to unscrew the blade. Draco watched in amazement as she turned it in deft fingers, supporting the entire weight of it with her fingers. When the blade was completely detached, she pulled it up and away from the hilt, revealing a long, grey-white stick of polished wood.

"Beautiful," Draco commented; he didn't know that halfbloods could do such things. His father would have traded his walking stick in a quick second to have this sword.

"This is my wand. I made the blade myself, and had a hard time getting the mechanics in town to let me use their space for blacksmithing, but well, it was worth it. It's silver and a granite-like magic catalyst." She turned the sword a few times in a down slashing spiral pattern, her upper arm barely moving as the sword cut through the air between them. "It has a better access shaft but I wanted you to see what it can do."

"A magic sword would be very interesting against wands; I've never battled against one before, and I doubt many of them have either."

Jesse smiled. "I can wield this better than anyone of them can wield a wand."

Sasha nodded. "So we have some defense, but there is a problem. Hermione is as blind as ever and you can't walk into their base of operations like that."

"I hope you weren't considering doing this by yourself!"

Hermione finally understood what they were saying - they were planning on helping them. "We can't let you do this. We've already put you in enough danger."

Draco shook his head. "I can't disclose anything to you guys - if they capture you then everything we were planning to do is completely buggered."

"You don't have a choice," Jesse replied. "There are cures for Hermione's blindness in eastern parts of Asia. I can work on that, and can meet you there."

Hermione ran a hand through her damp hair. "I don't know about this."

"The more people are involved, the more danger we are in," Draco said quietly. Why was he discussing getting help from the muggles? He could not respect Jesse as a witch yet, even having seen her sword and wand, and he had no idea how Sasha knew so much. More people being introduced to and involved in their mission would complicate things.

"In any case, you need to start preparing. Get packed; I'll get some things for you from the shop when I pick up Amy."

* * *

Hermione finished her french braid slowly, not knowing what to think. How had this happened? This seemed like the sweetest family in existence, yet they contribute to one of the worst practices in the wizarding world on a daily basis.

"Now you see why we can't trust anyone. We can't even trust each other."

Hermione shook her head, suddenly angry. She wanted her damn eyes! They were making this a million times harder than it needed to be!

"Calm down, Granger."

"Don't bloody tell me to calm down!"

Draco rolled his eyes and continued to put things into the bag. "We travel lighter this time. I've magicked smaller bottles for the panacea sap and the muggle potion. Also, the Death Eaters probably have spies watching this area because they have a big supplier here. We can't make any sudden moves that will draw their gaze."

"So going shopping that time was probably a bad idea."

"Definitely."

He finished quickly, having very little to put into the bag. He took out the wand and said, "_Diminuendo_." The bag shrank to the size of a handbag. "With any luck, they don't know we're here yet."

* * *

"Did you see them with your own eyes?"

Greg scratched in his beard. "I saw the woman. The one with the black eyes. She was sitting at the window."

Nora turned to Harry. "We've got her, Harry. Let's get moving."

He nodded, thinking. "Before the other side does. If we can get both of them, then all the better. We can get this wrapped up a little more quickly."

"Should we tell Ronald?"

Harry shook his head. "If this doesn't go as planned, I can't face him. Can you get us registered portkeys? I'll pop in on Neville."

"Sure." Nora turned to leave, only stopping when she reached the door. "Harry?"

Harry didn't turn to look at her. "Yes?"

"It's going to be okay. She's going to be okay."

He nodded, clearing his throat. He knew better than to hope. "Let's get you sorted out, Greg..."

* * *

_Author's note:_ Visit my profile to see the three brand new fanart pieces for this story.


	17. Brave and Beautiful Soul

_"If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts; but if he will be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in certainties." - Sir Francis Bacon_

**Chapter Seventeen: Brave and Beautiful Soul**

Frank's absence became the main worry in the house - with everyone working together, Hermione and Draco managed to fit clothes, toiletries, supplies, and food into their bag. By nightfall, they were nearly ready for a sudden departure.

"I need a wand, Draco," Hermione whispered.

Draco was facing away from her, but he could hear everything in her voice - what could happen if he let her have one, why she wanted one. He had told her that she needed to earn the right to have a wand... but truth be told, that little power struggle wasn't worth the trouble anymore. They had bigger things to worry about, and if she used a new wand to incapacitate him and escape... he honestly didn't care. Having her help was the optimal choice, but things were too awkward for him to try and put her in her place constantly.

Besides, he would know how she really felt once she had the power of a wand on her side - a wand she could use against him. Whether she did or not would determine where her mind was at.

A whole minute passed before he answered her. "I've got you figured out, Granger," he whispered back.

"You think you do," she retorted, turning away from him.

Draco sat up suddenly. "Turn around, Granger," he whispered. "It's about time we did this."

Hermione's heart instinctively jumped into her throat. She laid completely still instead, waiting for him to make a move, and wondering what suddenly made him so interested.

Instead, he laughed. "Wow, Granger. That's not what I'm talking about. Relax."

Hermione tentatively sat up, mortified, scooting back and pulling the covers over her bare legs. She stopped, unsure of what to do now.

He chuckled again, hiding a slight excitement at the idea of what she was thinking. "_Relax_. We need to be able to communicate without words. I did that once earlier but it is not safe to do it that way. You need to be able to talk back to me when I talk to you."

"You mean... telepathy."

"No, it's not telepathy really. You communicate with thoughts and emotions, not words. Telepathy is like talking without opening your mouth; I'm talking about breaking the barriers of your mind so it can reach out."

Hermione nodded. "It's really invasive."

Draco shook his head. He knew it was invasive, like getting in someone's personal space, because the mind _is_ personal space. Pulling back the curtain of someone's mind was like pulling aside a shower curtain - there was no place to hide and everything was there to see.

"You won't be able to do this unless I let you in, right?"

Draco quirked his head to the side, getting uncomfortable. "The more aware you are of the sensation, the easier it becomes to accept it and the easier it becomes to block it out and control it. But if you really want to, you can break in. The barrier is mostly controlled by emotions - I could reach you earlier because your emotional walls were down; it was sneaking my consciousness past the Death Eater that was so hard."

"I need resolve, basically."

"Yes. I find it hard to believe that you don't know about this kind of magic, Granger."

"I know about emotional magic, but not anything specific."

Draco closed his eyes and said, "Clear your mind and try to relax. The edge of your mind should feel like a curtain of water."

It was a few seconds before Hermione spoke. "I thought you said I couldn't trust you," she whispered.

She was right - dealing with this required quite a bit of trust - otherwise it was just purely invasive and truly awful. If they wanted to make this as easy as possible however, they needed to be able to communicate like this, so he was going to have to be a team player.

_Great_.

"You shouldn't trust me, no. But we need this. I know it's hard to trust me - it's hard for me to trust you."

When he got no response, he tried again. "We need this."

Hermione relaxed, closing her eyes out of habit. She was not used to feeling her mind this way, so it took her quite a while to feel the enclosure.

"It helps if you pretend you are floating. Let go of the strings that attach you to your body, and just feel your emotions - we'll just do that for now."

Hermione let her body fall back onto the pillow a bit and imagined it detaching from her mind and spirit. It wasn't working correctly though - she was too aware that she was relaxing her body when she should have been tense to have him so close. The fear she had felt earlier in this, where she was actually afraid of what he'd do to her, had morphed into fear of something else - perhaps a fear of getting too close, or a fear of feeling things that she shouldn't.

"You're not letting go."

Hermione opened her eyes, receiving a brief shock of more darkness, as usual, before she sat up. "I can't do this around you."

There was a little silence as he contemplated her statement.

Hermione immediately mentally kicked herself - saying things like that usually pissed him off.

Instead, Draco felt ashamed of the little flutter in his heart; a month ago he would have chalked this up to her fear of him or her inability to stand being around him, but now her tone sounded different. He was great at reading people when they said things like that; his parents had driven him crazy with their endless drivel, covering every single angle of a situation and every corner of an argument. Now he could do that in an instant.

And something was telling him that she could feel a bit of change in their relationship too.

He wouldn't dare acknowledge this or bring it to light, for fear of her rejection. He couldn't deny emotions anymore around her, and he'd done more than notice, but he had to be sure.

"Okay," he said, shaking his mind clear. "Let me try first, then."

Hermione nodded and laid back again.

For a while nothing was happening; she felt just the same as she had before. But after a minute, she could feel movement.

At first she thought it was something out of the corner of her eye, but she squashed that quickly with a frown. This was in her own head - it was like curtains fluttering. Like there were dark shapes outside of her lit window.

She was getting impatient; she was starting to recognize the shape. It felt like him, smelled like him, and looked like him, all at the same time, though she could tell none of this from using her fingers, her nose or her eyes. It was almost indecent how much like _him_ the shape was.

She relaxed a little more, and felt the light green liquid curtain thin out. She launched out her mind and crashed into his.

Dark grey, thick emotions suddenly covered her like tar. She gasped wildly as they filled the caves of her mind and body and suffocated her from the inside.

_She was five years old, petting a cat as it played with the edge of her rug; she was seven, running into her father's office with a drawing despite the pleas of her mother to leave him alone; she was twelve, sitting on a bench in the snow, throwing snowballs against the walls of one of the Hogwarts greenhouses; she was fifteen, trying to drown herself in a bath of hot water and lemon slices; she was eighteen, facing a dark street lit by a single lamp; there were running footsteps and flashes of light around the corner -_

She blacked out.

"What the _fuck_, Granger!"

She opened her eyes, wondering if she had just died. He was breathing hard, right over her face. His voice was dangerously low. "_Don't do that again._"

She closed her mouth, forcing herself to breathe out of her nose.

"Is everything okay in there?" asked a voice from behind the door. "I heard yelling."

"Yes, we're fine," Hermione forced out, sitting up and involuntarily putting her face right next to his. She stopped jerkily.

He didn't move to give her space; if her depth perception was right, he was indecently close to her, practically leaning over her.

What had covered her felt like emotions, dark emotions like wet cement, heavy and unforgiving. They had gripped her heartstrings and jostled her in a rough grasp. And yet she could feel memories filling her body, memories that she knew now for their emotions. She _knew_ things about him now. They had etched themselves in his physical body for their strong emotional value.

Neither of them moved as she assessed the memories that floated under her skin like silk.

"What has made you feel that?" she whispered.

Draco swallowed - her breath on his face made him want to descend into a coma; her words made the barriers around his mind weaken. She now understood - she had somehow forced all of his pent up anger and depression on herself by launching herself at him like she had. They'd been the same person for a few seconds.

He wanted to cry, he realized. He didn't know how he felt about this - something he had wanted for so long was just another person who _got it_. Another person who had the same emotional burden, one who could understand when he talked about tightened fists of anger and drowning in fog.

"No one should ever feel that."

"I know," he whispered back. He forced himself to lean away from her, giving himself some air. "I'm sorry."

Hermione shook her head, feeling a little bit of a loss. "Please don't be sorry."

He nodded, moving back over to his side of the bed and rearranging the covers, trying not to feel ashamed and embarrassed. He was not used to showing outward weakness - every time it happened, he felt awful afterwards. He could not face her right now - it was too weird.

He felt different, to be sure. Floating through that grey area he liked to call "soul space," he'd seen her mind barriers right in front of him.

The form of her mind was very different from everyone he'd tried; he'd only seen a glimpse of it in the forest, being too on edge to focus in on how she looked. All the other Death Eaters had much the same mind - they were grey shapes, only taking human characteristics once communication started. Death Eaters liked to hide themselves even while doing this, so instead of pulling back a curtain on their naked mind, he usually pulled back a curtain on their fully dressed, fully dolled up mind.

Hermione's mind was different - it was green, like a ripe pear, and looked like translucent mist. As he got close, he could feel her clearly; she was completely different than when he saw her when his eyes were open. He saw her true form, bearing the smell and feel that he recognized and could now attach to her physical self.

He suddenly wanted to throw up - why had he considered doing this? He felt weak, like the his body's surface tension could disappear and he would drip and drip until there was nothing left. Whatever she had done had weakened his mind; he was like an open book to any Death Eater that wanted to go prowling.

He felt a little flutter outside of his mind - he briefly tensed up, wondering who it was, but did not detect the presence of a Death Eater's familiar shape.

_:I hate that we can never talk.:_ Hermione said faintly.

_:Why is that?:_

It took a few seconds for her to respond - this was probably due to her lack of control over this new magic. _:We shut down around each other.:_

Draco brought himself back to reality a bit - he was almost able to think normally and communicate mentally simultaneously and separately, since he'd been doing it for a long time. Hermione was not likely to master the communication in the time they would spend in this mission.

He knew it now - she did shut him down. She shut his mind down so his body and emotions could keep running unchecked. Did he do the same to her? It was strange, how quickly they were unraveling.

_I have to be sure. I have to be safe._

Safe.

Another word he was getting used to, one that he'd wanted to try to use more of. Unfortunately, he was in the most dangerous position in the world, yet was considering to hide his feelings, whatever they were, around her, to keep himself safe.

Keep his heart safe?

_:It's okay to let people in.:_

Hermione could feel his quiet disagreement. :_No it isn't. You let people in and then they shit on you.:_

_:Then let the right people in.:_

An accusatory smell flowed from him. _:Who, you?:_

She was trying to hide her emotions, but was useless, like trying to cover her entire naked form with one arm, so it was easy to see that she was being sincere. Draco had more of a filter. _:Yes.:_

Draco was now annoyed. This is exactly the type of thing that he didn't like people doing - getting all kindly and helpful. Whatever issues he had, he didn't need those people to help him.

_:But that's exactly what you want.:_ She was still warm and sincere.

Oh shit. He'd forgotten to put his walls up.

Fatigue flowed from him. He didn't want to talk about it - discussing it would make him unhappy.

Hermione quietly closed the connection, her acceptance of his request mingling with determination. It was not likely that she would let this lie.

* * *

"We have a problem," Rubinoff said to his Master.

"Hmm..." She flipped through images in his mind - the beautiful Norwegian sunset set against the water and city lights; Mrs. Worthington's hurried walk from the grocery; a flash of blond hair and a pale face behind a garden fence -

"Well, there's no problem with that, is there? But yes, we must be tactful. We'll pay them a visit in the morning. Let everyone know."


	18. Feeling U, Feeling Me

_"Two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe unto him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up."  
~ The Bible: Ecclesiastes 4:9-10._

**Chapter Eighteen: Feeling U, Feeling Me**

Hermione didn't realize how heavily she had slept until she awoke suddenly and jerkily, panting. She reached out with her senses, and could feel the bed tilted in front of her. Draco Malfoy was still there, apparently sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Geez, Granger, you scared the hell out of me!" he said, getting up.

Hermione shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "Sorry. I do that whenever I'm anxious before bed."

Draco nodded and exited the room. Now that she was awake, he could no longer be alone with himself, and it was absolutely necessary now. He knew someone was going to come for them today, and despite it being still early, he needed to have his wits about him.

"Hermione? I've brought more clothes. These are also good for travel."

Hermione smiled as she felt Jesse set clothes beside her.

"Also, I've been doing some research. Unfortunately, it's not as simple as Googling 'noctulous blindness cures,' but I found some helpful things all the same. The antidote is some kind of potion, made with a special fruit. Some kind of... black citrus fruit. Very interesting stuff." Jesse lifted Hermione's arms and removed her nightie.

Hermione sighed, her smile growing and her abrupt wakefulness forgotten. "I'll bet. I'll have to read up on it as well - it sounds fascinating."

"You can read on the journey," Draco said, unabashed by his sudden appearance, nor of the fact that he knew Hermione would _not_ be reading on the journey.

It took Hermione a good second to realize she had to cover herself; Draco scoffed at the gesture and went back to what he was doing.

"You are leaving today?"

Draco nodded, indicating the bag on the floor next to the door. He stiffened; Hermione's mind was wondering around outside of his.

He opened his barrier, and though she could tell he was slightly annoyed to be having her emotions in his head so early in the morning, she could also tell that he was impressed by how much better she was controlling it.

A warm smile floated towards him, and he opened his eyes.

"You shouldn't blunder around like that outside of someone's head. Just tap on the window."

Jesse shot him a confused look and turned her gaze to Hermione, who nodded, albeit a little disappointed. He was so different in person from the Draco she saw in that hazy cream-tan space... she knew him better now though, and knew that he put up a front.

_:You don't have to pretend around me now.:_

She felt him roll his eyes.

"Tea is on the table, if you'd like some."

"Yes," Hermione said. "Draco, I need to get dressed now."

He nodded and left without another word.

"I swear, I think he's mad sometimes."

* * *

Hermione smoothed her fingers over the edges of her cup - it was small and dainty, and made of glass.

"I told you we live too well," Jesse muttered, noticing the movement. "So describe this woman to me, the one who runs the show."

Draco shook his head. "She's a little messed up in the head, one of those geniuses who is not all there. She has her tempers but is creepily good humored most of the time."

Sasha grinned, her usual sad smile gone this morning, for whatever reason. "She sounds quite human."

"Yes. Her methods aren't always though. She's a little better than the Dark Lord at things like torture. She doesn't do spells. She does... machines."

Hermione shuddered, thinking of torture machines in history. There were all kinds of things one could do to cause pain, and she didn't want to think about them - her chest hurt quite enough for her to deal with.

"She... has black hair and piercing eyes. And a gentle smile, though on her it makes her seem even crazier."

"How about height, body type, etcetera?"

Draco shrugged. "We knew better than to objectify her, but she does have petite physical features. Whose to know - she usually only exposes her back and a bit of her chest."

Jesse nodded. "My type of girl."

Sasha gave her daughter a look. "Don't start with that again."

"Start with what?" Hermione furrowed her brows, not getting it.

Draco chuckled. "Oh. Now I know why I thought swordplay suited you."

Jesse chuckled as well. "It's not what you think. So she must be powerful if she is able to control so many people and keep everything going."

"And if she has the power to locate people like she has located us before."

There was silence as the group contemplated her statement. It was rather frightening that the Death Eaters could be mobilizing to attack them this very second, despite the hour and despite the unusual calm in the house. _Calm before the storm,_ Hermione thought.

"How will I contact you, Hermione? While I'm finding your cure."

She shook her head, wishing it was as simple as a flick of Draco's wand to put her back to normal. "I don't know. There is no safe way."

Draco nodded thinking. Owls were out of the question, and displaying any kind of magic signal around the Death Eater hideout was not safe either.

Hermione's head popped up - the answer was so obvious it was ridiculous. Of _course_! "We use mobile phones."

The group sighed, agreeing, all except for Draco, who shrugged. "Do whatever you need to do."

* * *

Harry Potter looked around the street. The street-lamps were no longer on and he could clearly see the numbers on the houses.

"It should be just around the corner. Do you mind scouting and seeing what the situation is? For all we know, it's Malfoy's new home."

Neville nodded and walked around the corner; this gave Harry some time to think.

He was unusually calm for such a mission - though he was usually calm during rescue missions (as he found out with Sirius and others.) He should have been afraid to see what awaited him in that large white house. It was easy to be optimistic, however, due to the peaceful look of this street and the calming landscape. Harry took a look behind him, where the city was spread out, just waking up to start the day. He hoped with all his might that whatever happened within the next twenty minutes, it happened without incident.

* * *

Draco ran a hand through his wet hair, looking at the fogged-up mirror. A hazy reflection stared back at him.

It was strange to talk to someone again without words, and even stranger to talk to someone who was so warm in her head. Most people were cold, like him; everything about them felt cold, even if the emotions they displayed were happy ones. There was something so soothing about Hermione Granger's mind.

_Damn it,_ Draco thought, running a hand through his hair again. _Why do I have to feel this way about her now?_ He would probably never be able to answer this question; he wanted to find the source of his liking for her, so that he can know exactly why she made him feel the way he felt. And then he could avoid that part of her, that part of _him_, until the feelings went away.

The problem was that it seemed like it came from so many things, and especially things he could not change. Part of it was her understanding of him; part of it was her warmth and sincerity; another part of it was the strange ability she had to shut him down mentally and make him feel his emotions.

Plus she didn't look half-bad either. She had little freckles on her face, and creamy skin, and was the perfect height for him.

And she was kind of pretty. He was starting to notice _that_ more as well...

He needed that piano. Now.

Draco quickly pulled a shirt over his head, making his way towards the piano in the corner of the living room. His feet scraped sharply against the hardwood floor as he stopped abruptly.

Hermione was sitting there already, absently playing random keys. He could tell that she was frustrated, since she couldn't see what key she was pressing without feeling the ones around it first; she was sitting too close to the piano and had poor hand position, so he knew she didn't play, but she clearly knew what the notes were since she was trying to pair up scales.

Draco sat without a word, letting Hermione stiffen next to him briefly before relaxing a bit and scooting over. Through the silence, he could hear her anticipation; her bottomless eyes were fixed on the far wall and her hands suddenly went to her lap.

"Are you going to play something?" she asked.

She had already felt what he felt, and had already been privy to memories and feelings in the deepest corners of his mind and body, so why did he still feel strange about this?

Because he had wanted to get away from thoughts of her by indulging himself in a little escape time, but instead he was about to entertain her with that escape.

Draco scooted the bench back slowly until he found his spot, and ran through possible pieces in his head. He wanted to play something that didn't use the whole keyboard, since she was sitting with him, and did not feel like showing her one of his own pieces, so he settled on one she should know.

The one thing he loved about this piece was the images it created - he almost always thought of moonlight when he played it, and thought it to be appropriately named.

Hermione sucked in a breath beside him - he looked over at her. She knew this piece.

:_Moonlight Sonata?:_

Draco nodded, knowing she couldn't see it but would be able to feel, smell, and taste "Yes" in her mind. She wasn't smiling; instead, he felt something else coming from her light green mind... something like sadness. This piece sobered her, and yet relaxed her as well. He could feel her mind almost leaning on his. He detached himself from his body a bit, letting muscle memory guide his fingers, and lessened the curtain between Hermione's mind and his own.

He received a brief shock as she went right through the partition... they were becoming the same person again, only this time, it wasn't painful. This time it felt like heaven.

Their minds were overlapping, so instead of pulling back the curtain on his naked self, it was like she was stepping into the small shower, his soul cavity, to join him.

This wasn't nearly as indecent as before, though it probably should have been, considering that he had _never_ felt so close to someone in his life, so completely buried in someone. It was like... sex.

Panic suddenly pinched him - what was he doing? Surely, whatever was going on was not safe and probably not a good idea anyway. He tried to repress everything that he was starting to feel - panic that this was wrong; panic that she would realize it; panic that eventually they would split apart and the feeling of intense closeness would be gone...

Hermione's soul perked up a bit. She could sense the panic now, and started it in her own mind as well.

Draco crashed back to reality as a stark and unforgiving sound met his ears -

The doorbell.

Sasha bustled into the room, Amy following her; she glanced at Draco, who was still trying to recover from the strange experience he had just had. She stopped when she saw his expression.

"Is it her?" she whispered.

Draco closed his eyes, but the only mind he could sense was Hermione's slightly disappointed mind, still in limbo between full consciousness and floating in soul space. Either she needed practice or... she was still feeling heady from the connection. He shrugged slightly, indicating that it could be anyone.

Sasha nodded and went to open the door.

Draco turned his attention back to Hermione, attempting to shake off the last of his panic. She was leaning against his arm, her black eyes drifting shut and her body trying to absorb him. He realized that he was still playing.

"Malfoy?"

Draco looked up, ending the piece. The last person he had expected to see was standing in the room.

"_Longbottom?_"

Neville looked from him to Hermione, confusion on his face, his wand now pointing at the floor. "What..."

Harry Potter stepped around him, wearing the same expression. "What's going on, Hermione?"

Draco looked down at Hermione. He mentally cursed, seeing what this whole thing must look like - her leaning against him so, an almost dreamlike expression on her face; him _letting_ her, and even enjoying it; him playing piano for her...

"Harry?" Hermione stood up. "Is that you, Harry?"

"Yes, Hermione, it's me," he said, still staring at the two.

Hermione's face brightened briefly before she realized why he was there. "I... just listen a second Harry, before you do anything - "

It was too late. Draco was already up, his wand pointed at the two, who had their own wands pointed at him now as well.

Hermione felt the change in the air immediately. "Hey... stop it, boys! I know this looks bad, but please hear us out!"

Harry shook his head, his hand shaking. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you, but we don't have time for that now. This ends now."

"No it doesn't, Potter. This is only beginning, and we need you to be _out_ of our way."

"_Our_ way? What is he on about, Hermione?"

Sasha looked fearfully between them, daring to speak up. "What is this? I thought you said you were friends!"

There was silence as they stared each other down, the ticking of the wall clock being the only sound. Finally, Hermione spoke up. "Yes, we are all friends. All of us."

"He's tortured you, made fun of you, kidnapped you, and you think we're friends? Bullocks. Absolute bullshit - "

"Well, he's _my_ friend, and if you love me then you will _put your wand down __now_."

Oh. She only reserved that tone for him when she was absolutely serious and ready to maim. Draco looked down at her fiery expression. His other hand found her arm and gripped it gently.

"_Get your bloody hands off of her._"

Draco looked up at them, his wand still fixed on Harry. His face was expressionless as he did the unthinkable.

His arm encircled her shoulders.

Hermione's face turned in his direction, the fiery expression slipping into something that looked like nervousness. With her so close, he could feel her heart speed up.

"YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING JOKING."

"Harry, please - we're on a mission... please understand..."

"YOU'RE FUCKING SERIOUS?"

Draco suddenly stiffened. "Potter, we don't have time for this now. You're either with us or against us, because there are five Death Eaters standing at the door."

Harry stared at him as the front door exploded off its hinges.


	19. Chase Down the Moon

_"History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again." - Maya Angelou_

**Chapter Nineteen: Chase Down the Moon**

Hermione's blood ran cold as she felt someone slither their way into her head. It was like having her soul licked by the Devil himself; images began to flash before her eyes.

"Draco!" she breathed, and he realized what was happening.

"Hermione, catch!" Neville tossed a wand up in the air and pointed his own at it. "_Advenio Hermione!_"

The wand zoomed into Hermione's hand, which she had thrown out on impulse. Her heart jumped at the familiar feel of the carved vines against her fingers as Draco moved the piano aside with a quick nonverbal spell and faced the dark figures moving into the room.

_:Put up a brick wall. Use your resolve,:_ Draco whispered to Hermione, his repressed panic flooding her senses.

Hermione closed her black eyes and shut herself down, thinking of everything solid - prisons, walls, steel, anything to prevent the pictures from forming, anything to try and block the person out.

"Now, I expected to see you here, Draco, but what's with the guests? Mrs. Worthington, you should have mentioned that you were having a party; I would have invited more friends!"

Rage boiled in Draco's heart as he drew Hermione closer to him instinctively. Master's voice was strangely different from what he remembered, but it still held the alarming madness in its tone. Harry was edging his way around the room to get a better dueling position on the intruders, Draco's actions forgotten.

The speaker revealed herself, and Harry found himself gaping at her - she was wearing an expressionless geisha mask with rosy cheeks and black eyes, and was dressed in a long, fitted purple cloak over a clearly beautifully androgynous body. He had never seen a creepier looking person in his life.

"Don't," Draco ground out as he felt her try to slither into his mind; he immediately filled it with a list of the nastiest spells he knew and intended to use on her. He could feel her amused smile.

Before anyone else could respond, Amy's small form exploded from behind Draco in a fury of cherry red hair and screamed, "_Glacivas!_"

The room glowed blue as dozens of razor sharp icicles burst out of her wand point, angrily shooting towards the Death Eaters; Draco allowed himself a moment of surprise at the powerful spell before he pointed his wand directly at Master No Name.

Jesse was coming up behind them silently, her sword held high; Harry sprung into action, throwing curses without pausing for a breath. Draco knew immediately, however, that Master had one intention - apprehend the two of them.

Hermione was still twitching with effort as she tried to block out the violation in her mind, some of the most private images coming to life under her lids. She nearly screamed as she suddenly began reliving her night at Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix's high laughter mixing with her own screams.

Draco pulled her behind him. "_Ignotus!_"

A dark curtain enclosed Master, trying to smother her; it lasted only a moment before it evaporated, but that was long enough to weaken her attack on Hermione's mind. Hermione stood up straight and clumsily reached around Draco to point her newly repaired wand. She opened her mouth, just as Master twirled her wand.

Draco blanched as Hermione fell to the ground.

"_Incarcerous!_" Master shouted, and ropes formed around Hermione's weak form.

"Hermione!" Neville yelled, dodging an Impediment Hex.

"Nora, help!" Harry suddenly shouted.

A thunderous clap sounded in the middle of the room, halting Draco's next spell, and Nora Constable appeared, looking ready to kill. The Death Eater on Master No Name's right looked at her stupidly before pointing his wand.

"Fat chance," she whispered darkly, and he erupted in flames.

Master No Name's gasp did not escape her, and she turned to look at the other woman. "Ready, bitch?"

Instead of answering, she pointed her wand and sent a flood of black magic toward her. Nora countered with a blinding light as she attempted to fend off the darkness.

The space was much too enclosed to have a proper duel as Draco found; Jesse brought her sword hilt down on Neville's head by accident, sending him to the floor; Rubinoff, standing on Master's left, promptly tripped on a power cord and grabbed Sasha Worthington on the way down as she tried to take cover behind the fallen door. Her arms found their way around his neck from behind as she attempted to choke him the old fashioned, muggle way.

"_Castigo..._"

A bright red spell shot out of Hermione's wand and hit the furthest Death Eater in the leg.

Draco looked away as the Death Eater, who already had icy daggers sticking out of his shoulder, fell over. "We're leaving," he muttered, getting a better grip on Hermione's shivering form and pulling her towards the kitchen. He used his wand to try to untangle the ropes from her body.

"No..." she moaned. "We have to help them... I must get to Harry!"

Draco shook his head and picked her up, ignoring her extremely weak attempts at removing his arms. Draco was immediately warmed by the feeling of carrying her; it felt like home now, he had done it so many times.

"_They're getting away!_" Rubinoff stormed, slamming Sasha against the wall and knocking the older woman out with a _crack_.

"DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE, MALFOY!"

Draco ignored Harry and lied Hermione out on the counter. Softness encountered his leg, and he looked down to discover Loki, the Worthingtons' cat, rubbing against his leg and completely unaffected by the noise in the next room.

He looked at Hermione's face, noting the green tinge; it was the same spell that Rubinoff and Krokesh had used to sap away her strength. She had probably reacted better to its effects the first time due to the adrenaline that kept her moving forward; this time, she seemed to be almost completely incapacitated by it.

Draco's heart raced as he shakily filled his palm with water from the tap and rubbed a bit on her face to keep her awake. Hermione looked up at him tiredly.

"You need to get up, Hermione; I know you're tired. I can't apparate you if you're unconscious."

"But Harry..."

"I know, I know. _Accio duffel!_ We will contact him, okay? Will that make you happy?"

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded.

Draco looked around for the cell phones Jesse had brought home, purposely shutting down his brain before he could think of all the reasons why this was a stupid thing to do. There were three of them; one was for Draco, one for Hermione, and the last for Jesse. He snatched one of them up and ran into the living area.

"Potter, catch!" Draco threw the mobile at Harry, promptly beaning the other man on the head with it.

With that, he went into the kitchen, catching the duffel on the way, picked up Hermione, then Loki as an afterthought, and disapparated.

* * *

"THAT BLOODY COWARD, I COULD KILL HIM!"

Nora shook her head, surveying the damage. "It's fine, Harry. At least we can contact them now, and when they call, we'll track their location."

"_Them?_ I came here to get Hermione _away_ from him, not give them another reason to stay together! And don't you think they will have thought of that? You know what he'll do; he'll say that he will destroy the phone if we try to track them!"

Neville stood up, rubbing the purple mark on his forehead where Jesse had hit him with her sword. His eyes were wide, making him look more like the boy Harry knew in school.

"Sorry about that, by the way," Jesse commented, sheathing the sword and rushing toward her mother.

Neville shook his head and waved off her apology. "It's fine, really."

Suddenly, Jesse paled. She put her head against her mother's chest, listening for a heartbeat, then checked her pulse on both her neck and her wrist.

"_Ennervate!_" Nora said, pointing her wand at the woman. The spell rustled her clothing, but did little else.

"Mum? Mum..."

"This one's out," Harry said, picking Amy's still form off the piano seat. "_Finite incantatem._" The full body bind released, and she hung limply in his arms, dropping her wand to the floor.

"MUM! Stop it, you're scaring me!" Jesse buried her face in her mother's chest, hugging her.

"Rubinoff must have... broken her neck against the wall," Neville said quietly, fearfully, noting the strange angle to which Sasha's head was turned.

There was silence except for Jesse's sobs; Harry picked the phone off the floor and flipped it open, searching the address book.

"There's nothing in here," he said quietly, leaning against the glass partition that separated him from the garden. "How are we supposed to call them?"

Neville shook his head as he rubbed Jesse's back.

* * *

Draco set Hermione and Loki against a tree, looking around. He had been dodging around for hours; it was nearly midday. They had managed to get into the mountains and lose the Death Eaters in the tall grasses and sharp rocks. He and Hermione were currently nearly halfway up a mountain; it was cold here.

"I'm going to kill you," Hermione said, letting Loki climb off her stomach and pocketing her newly repaired wand.

"I know."

"They're probably dead, or taken prisoner by No Name, and you don't care."

"I know."

Hermione paused. "You're a prick!"

Draco smirked, just shaking his head. "I know."

Loki, whose spirits seemed to be also unaffected by the onslaught of apparition after apparition, rubbed her head against Hermione's hand, and Hermione immediately simmered down enough to stroke her tiredly. "Being mad at you is too stressful," she muttered.

"Then don't be. We're alive."

Hermione huffed and got comfortable, trying not to aggravate her newly opened scabs. Her body was so stressed that she just felt like crying. Her eyes stung briefly.

"I've got the numbers. And the mobile. You can talk to Potter if you want."

"He can track us here with it, you know."

Draco nodded, his expression solid and cold. "Not if he wants to talk, he won't."

Hermione rolled her eyes and reached out her hand, which fell to her side after a second. Her eyebrows furrowed with effort.

He hated to see her like this. The cell phone dropped next to her on the ground, and she snatched it up, before remembering that she couldn't see the numbers. She tossed the phone back at him, Draco barely catching it before it smacked into his chest. "Type in the first number string and press the green button," she said with a sigh.

Draco typed them in and handed the phone to Hermione.

_"Is this ri - Hermione?"_ It was Neville.

"Yes, Neville, it's me. We're fine." There was some commotion.

_"HERMIONE?"_

"Ron? Ron!"

_"I miss you so much, I can't even tell you, it's been SHIT here without you!"_

"Oh my god Ron, I've missed you too! I - "

Draco snatched the phone away. "Listen here, Weasel. Don't even _think_ about trying to - hey, quit it, Granger! - I mean it. If you try to track us I'll destroy the mobile! Where... am I talking into the right place?"

"How the hell would I know? I'm BLIND, remember?"

There was more commotion. _"WHEN I GET THROUGH WITH YOU, FERRET, YOU'LL HAVE TO FUCK SIDEWAYS!"_

"I heard that, Ron..." Hermione sighed, her head in her hands.

_" - ENTRAILS WILL BECOME YOUR EX-TRAILS -"_

"Shut it, Weasel, and get Potter."

A loud crash sounded, and then silence, before someone spoke. _"Draco Malfoy? This is Nora Constable of the Department of Magical Defense."_

"... Okay, and?"

_"It might interest you to know that Sasha Worthington, the woman who answered the door, died this morning with a broken neck."_

Draco's heart stopped. "She... she's dead?"

"Who's dead?" Hermione asked fearfully.

_"Yes, and it appears the youngest daughter has yet to wake up; she's in St. Mungo's receiving treatment for spell damage and a few broken ribs."_

"What of Jesse?"

_"Jessibelle is here, answering some questions - she's emotionally scathed but otherwise unharmed. Do you want to know why I am telling you this?"_

"Because you want me to feel guilty."

_"About dragging people into your scheme, yes. But I don't want to lecture you; I have a proposition."_

Draco steadied his breathing and reformed his emotional mask. "Shoot."

_"You helped us this morning, and we are willing to return the favor now that we know your true intentions. Give Hermione back to us, and I'll ask the Wizengamot to pardon your crimes during your time as a Death Eater. The kidnapping, evading authorities, and use of dark magic I can do nothing about, nor can I help your reputation, but any sentence you serve in Azkaban will be greatly reduced."_

Draco risked a look at Hermione, pouting against the tree. What would she say if he told her the proposition? She would agree; she would come up with a million reasons why it would be the best thing to do, and she would convince him to let her go... just let her go and face the inevitable future that he knew was coming anyway.

But he didn't want to.

He had to be crazy, absolutely insane, for even contemplating throwing this away. But... he wanted her to stay with him. He wanted her help, wanted her there to hit him, yell at him, roll her black eyes at him, laugh at him... he wanted her there to understand him and comfort him. If he let her go, he doubted that she would ever come back to him, ever come to see him or admit that she felt similar.

Draco nonverbally cast a silencing spell around himself.

"I want her with me, Ms. Constable. I don't want to give her back."

There was a few seconds of silence before the woman spoke again, sounding slightly interested. _"You would rather risk spending the rest of your life in Azkaban than ensure her safety?"_

"That's just it; she's safe with me. And I'm safe with her. And... I don't have a future, and I already knew that. But I still have a present."

_"I don't understand, Draco."_

"Neither do I... I just can't let her go right now. My life is already empty enough."

Nora was silent, obviously surprised by this admission.

"So... no. Maybe I'll change my mind later, but right now... no."

_"I think I understand what is happening. If that is your decision, then when the time does come for you to stand trial - and it will, at some point - I will enter this conversation as evidence in your favor, if that's okay with you."_

Draco couldn't even process her words. "Yes, sure, okay."

_"In the meantime... just please keep her safe. And don't hurt her."_

Draco nodded and said a quick goodbye before closing the cell phone, wondering how much Nora Constable could tell through his words.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ There are two trailers for this one now. Make sure you check them out and leave a comment - the links are on my profile page.

Also, I got a request to put a song with each chapter, so I thought I'd make a list. The song for this chapter? Definitely "Aimai Na Mikaku" by Girugamesh.


	20. Anything Can Happen

_"Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain but it takes character and self control to be understanding and forgiving." - Dale Carnegie_

**Chapter Twenty: Anything Can Happen In the Next Half Hour**

Nora entered the room, closing the heavy door behind her. There was a fake mirror on one wall, surrounded by three walls of a sickly white-green paint on poor-quality stone. Jesse Worthington sat on one end of a table, her head in her arms and her normally perfectly straight hair curling into waves.

"I'm sorry about the formality of this, Jesse, but it is necessary to appease the law, as you know."

Jesse nodded, not lifting her head.

"I know you have been questioned already but given the gravity of the situation, all witnesses must be thoroughly picked through before they can be released. And... I do mean picked through."

"You have to have a look at my memories then." It wasn't a question.

Nora sighed. "Yes." She gestured to the pensieve attached to a projector on the table.

"I'll need my wand."

Nora handed her the magic sword and Jesse carefully unscrewed the blade, setting it on the table in front of her. She detached the wand from the hilt and pointed it at her head.

"Please retrieve every memory you have of their encounters, their conversations, or their interaction."

Jesse nodded, putting the first silver stream into the pensieve. It glittered briefly and then returned to swirling silver.

Nora left her to her task, knowing that it was likely to take at least a half hour. She walked down the corridor and opened the door at the end.

"Harry, we have things to discuss. I'll see you in my office now."

Harry Potter got up from his chair and followed her to a brightly lit room with a wide, black desk against the far wall; large fake windows covered with thin metal shutter blinds cast lines across the plain white walls. He sat down heavily on the couch next to the door and waited for her to speak.

"You can't stay angry with me, Harry," she said warmly.

Harry shook his head. He had simmered down from his rage after the confrontation the day before, but he was still angry with the lot of them. "He doesn't deserve what you offered."

Nora crossed her arms over her chest. "There is something I didn't want the others to know that I need to tell you."

Harry looked up.

"He declined because he wanted to stay with her. He wanted her there with him."

"_What?_"

"I know. He said, 'I can't let her go; my life is empty enough.'"

Harry looked back at his hands, folded in his lap. He spoke quietly. "Does this mean that the reports we've been getting - fake though they were - about them looking like lovers were actually true?"

Nora shook her head. "I think neither of them realize how they feel about each other; you told me about how you found them, cupcaking at the piano, and then Hermione's reluctance to leave his side. Then coupled with Malfoy's words, it starts to make sense."

Harry shook his head. "I don't hate him the way I used to... but - "

"Ron, I know," Nora put forth.

Harry looked up. "Exactly."

"Also, I noticed something else that seemed strange. Did you notice how quickly No Name left after Malfoy disapparated? And she wasn't even trying to win our duel; I expected more from the witch who controls the Death Eaters. They are, imaginably, a rowdy bunch."

Harry nodded. "The spell she used against Hermione was pretty fierce, though. Is she afraid of you?"

"She should be. She murdered my twin brother, after all."

"Really?"

"Yes. Admittedly, I knew taking this case personally, even though it is slightly out of my jurisdiction, would lead me straight to her. And that is what I wanted. Even though my brother was involved with the dark arts, he did not deserve to die. He was so talented in so many ways."

"So... he refused to join them? And they killed him?"

Nora shrugged, obviously fighting the sadness that wanted to creep into her expression. "That's what we figured. This happened before I came to this position."

Harry nodded. He knew what it felt like to lose people because of the Death Eaters and their madness.

"Don't be disappointed. It just means she will be easier to get rid of. Besides, for all we know, the woman you dueled was a decoy."

Nora smiled sadly. "If so, let's hope she's just as weak. Also, I need you to realize that even though this case's importance has doubled now that we know their mission... I still have my regular duties to address. I know the relationship you have with the Ministry's activities is mostly freelance, which allows you to focus on certain things... but mine is a formal one. I'm the head of the Department of Defense."

"I know. This _does_ fall in your jurisdiction - protecting her is part of protecting the magical community."

Nora shook her head. "I had to pull strings to get this case on my desk alone - it does concern my department, but I need you to understand that I do not normally do this, and it's... it's taking a toll on my other responsibilities."

Shifting in his chair, Harry shook his head. "Don't do this to us, Nora..."

"I'm not renouncing the case," she backpedaled quickly. "I didn't say I was. I just... I need you to get over however you feel about those two working together, _without you_, and try to find out as much as you can about their mission. Details, I mean, as detailed as you can get. You know how to do this, I'm sure." Harry nodded. "Now that I've seen the master with no name, so many theories that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has come up with need to be evaluated... also, the Department of International Magical Cooperation needs a full report, especially since we know for a fact that their hideout is not in Europe... this is a lot bigger than just Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy."

Yes, it was. He was being immature about this - nothing is ever as simple as hate and dislike, good and evil. There were always other forces at work; he especially knew this to be true.

"Anyways, Jesse is supplying the memory evidence for you to examine, Jasper from the International Confederation of Wizards wants to talk to you about joining, and I've got a meeting with the Minister and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in a few minutes to report on yesterday... in the meantime I need you to talk to Amy Worthington, who apparently came out of her stupor this morning. Sasha's funeral services will be in the afternoon... and I don't want to make you do this, but her daughter has the right to know, though she cannot attend in her condition."

Harry nodded. "Okay."

"And if Malfoy or Hermione calls... try to be understanding and tactful, Harry. That's your new task."

He looked away. He didn't really want to think about having to be understanding with them, though he knew it was for the greater good. He shouldn't have to be understanding - everything should have worked out the day before...

* * *

Hermione cuddled Loki to her chest, listening to the sounds of Draco's footsteps through the foliage. She was giving him the silent treatment, as much as it pained her heart; she wanted nothing more than to talk with him, talk about what happened at the piano. She was sure that she had never felt something so amazing in her life, and that included her time spent under the influence of Felix Felicis.

"Are you going to talk to me?" he asked quietly, his mind still in shock from his admission the day before.

That stung a bit; it was not in his nature to ask something like that. "I'm still angry with you, Draco."

"I know."

Hermione turned her head away, wishing for the millionth time that she could see his expression. She was actually waiting for him to apologize, but it seemed like the closest thing she would get was his understanding of how she felt.

"You do realize why, right?" she murmured, trying to maybe coax one out of him

"_Finite incantatem,_" he muttered, and she gently touched down on the ground.

Did he just completely ignore her question? "Why did we stop?" she asked, turning her head in vain. She was next to a tree; she pushed her back against it, wondering if they had reached a magical forest.

"I need a minute," he said shortly, and walked away.

When he was far enough away, Draco sank to the ground, not caring that he was sitting on damp leaves.

She was suffocating him again, stealing his sanity. He thought back to his conversation with the Department of Defense lady the day before, and cringed. Why had he told her so much, when he didn't even think he could admit it to himself? It frightened him quite a bit, frightened him more than he cared to think about.

How could Hermione ignore him so while he was feeling like this? After yesterday, everything seemed so uncertain to him. He was afraid to attempt to carry her, wondering how she would react, so he'd had to levitate her, even though it forced him to concentrate on keeping her in the air. He was afraid to try to speak with her without words, with his emotions - what if she tried to shut him out, or if she felt something like hurt, disgust, hatred, or any of the numerous negative things she could feel about him?

What if she got angry with him and demanded that he take her back to her friends?

He was feeling extremely guilty about purposely keeping her; she would not be happy when she found out that he had pointedly rejected a bribe that would basically make everything better. He was such a selfish person, and he was reminded of that more than ever.

_You don't think of anyone's wants but your own. That is why you are cowardly and unable to do what you need to do_.

He clamped his hands over his ears, his father's psychobabble ringing loudly in his head, and echoing in his heart. And why did he want her?

Draco started slightly as he felt Loki's soft fur against his leg. He immediately relaxed; this cat was really starting to grow on him.

Suddenly, he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder.

Without thinking, Draco pulled the person around him and pinned him under his legs, his wand out.

"Draco!"

It was Hermione.

Draco blinked, his wand point still pressed into her neck. He released her at once. "I didn't realize it was you..."

Hermione shook her head, her eyes filling with tears anyway. It seemed like every time he touched her like that, she felt like crying. Her heartbeat was going crazy again.

"Look - don't cry. You know I didn't mean it."

Hermione turned away from his voice. "It's okay, it's not that." She wanted to hate feeling that, but she couldn't; she wanted to think nothing of it, or be angry with him for it, but she couldn't. Not even her logic could comprehend her reaction or try to dissect what was happening to her. She had felt that electrifying thrill again, at being pinned down in such a way.

Draco got up, looking around for something to kick. His eyes settled on a tree and he kicked it, hard, a few times. He didn't feel better afterwards, as he thought he would; his foot throbbed painfully and he cursed. He had to scream or something; his eyes settled on his arm, one which he could almost completely see his past rages.

Hermione continued to stifle tears as she rose to her feet. Loki looked up at her expectantly and meowed.

"Oh no, we haven't any food for you!" she crouched down, waiting for the cat to find her hand and trying to bottle down her outburst.

Draco stalked over to the duffel he had dropped and enlarged it to its normal size. He rummaged through it, knowing already that they had packed nothing that the cat would want to eat. He settled on one of the water bottles.

After he'd conjured a dish and filled it with water, Loki made her way over to it quickly. It had been a while since Draco had had an animal to care for; the ones he did own were his owl, Balthazar, given to him by his father, and his cat, Pewter, a gift from his uncle. Pewter was a pureblood Russian Blue and would only allow himself to be picked up, fed, or handled by Draco or the house elves.

Draco smirked a bit, his bad mood beginning to fade. Loki was a lot friendlier than his cat back at the Manor; he wondered briefly how Pewter was holding up in his absence.

"I've given her some water," Draco said to Hermione, eyeing her disappointed expression, since the cat had placed the water as a higher priority than coming to her. She shrugged off his comment, standing again and slowly walked over to the two, following the path that Draco had made in the leaves.

Draco took out some food and gave it to Hermione, who nodded thanks and ate slowly. "We might as well rest for a bit." He then reopened the water bottle and drank some.

His stomach was getting too fluttery to allow him to eat these days.

"Are we ever going to talk about yesterday?" Hermione asked quietly.

Draco stared straight ahead. "No, we aren't."

He wasn't sure what he would say about it, or how much it would reveal, and - once again - he highly doubted that she felt even remotely like he did.

Hermione turned away from his voice so he couldn't see her hurt expression. Of course he didn't want to talk about it; she was trying to initiate what felt like a "the morning after" conversation with him and he was the type to avoid things like that. She understood this, and even felt the same way a bit, but... she wanted to tell him something. She couldn't figure out what it was exactly, but she wanted the conversation to start so... she could say something about it.

They sat in silence until Loki wandered off, having had her fill of water. Draco conjured a lid for the dish and put it in his bag. "Let's get moving," he said, and helped Hermione up. She was still a bit weak from Master No Name's spell, but was managing a lot better today. Besides, levitating took very little energy for the person being levitated.

Loki came back, munching on a cricket, and followed them.

* * *

_Author's note:_ The song for this chapter is "Anything Can Happen In the Next Half Hour" by Enter Shikari.


	21. So Simple

_"Our anxiety does not come from thinking about the future, but from wanting to control it." - Kahlil Gibran_

**Chapter Twenty-one: So Simple**

Nightfall came faster than they anticipated; they'd had a brief scare of a potential Death Eater, but it turned out to be muggle hikers trekking through the mountains. Draco had rolled his eyes and apparated them to a different location, wanting to skip that conversation.

He managed to find a rocky water spot and dipped his hands in the water.

"Good god, that's cold," he muttered, shaking his hand off. He gathered some of it anyway in the water bottles and charmed it to purify itself, just in case.

"You know, you could just use _aguamenti_."

"Shut up," he said. He looked over at Hermione, realizing that he'd just snapped at her for no reason, and backpedaled. "I know that. There are some things I don't like to use magic for, like food. It's weird."

Hermione frowned at the tone she remembered from their Hogwarts days and took out her wand. "_Attula ringo._" The leaves in front of her feet transformed into an apple.

Draco ignored her munching and made his way over to the side of the miniature valley they were in. After casting a silencing charm on the area, he said, "_Defodio!_" The rock carved itself away to form a cave.

"I guess we're turning in here?"

"Yes. Come on." He tugged her into the cave, followed by Loki, who looked around tentatively. Draco joined them after a minute, and immediately went to the bag to get out the blanket he'd packed.

Hermione turned her body in the direction the wind was coming from, figuring this to be the entrance, and pointed her wand. "_Cave inimicum!_"

Draco turned to her. "Since when did you know that spell?"

She shrugged, putting her wand away and continuing to munch on the apple. The spell probably wasn't necessary, but she was happy to get her wand back. "Harry and I used it while we were on the run to strengthen the defenses of our campsite."

Draco nodded and laid out the blanket - besides how he felt about her, she really was useful. He walked over to her and steered her carefully to the blanket. "I'll be back," he muttered after she got comfortable.

Hermione snuggled into the fabric, ignoring the hardness pressing against her from underneath it. He was such a guy - he'd forgotten to clear the rocky bits away before laying out the blanket. She allowed herself a small smile, the first one since the day before.

Draco came back before long, finding Hermione in the process of trying to force herself asleep; he removed his shoes and laid down beside her, turning away from her concentrated face.

Just as Hermione predicted, her breathing became unsteady.

Draco cursed at the blanket - it was thick and big, but not enough to mask the rocks underneath nor enough to allow them sufficient personal space. Hermione absently snuggled closer to him to avoid the sharp rocks at her back, and the warm smell of apples clouded his senses.

It was going to be an awkward night, he knew. He sighed angrily, wishing things could be simple again.

As he was beginning to drift off, he felt a flutter against his mind.

It was her, he knew - she was waiting outside the curtain, afraid to peer around it, yet knowing that it will reveal the occupant anyway. Draco repressed his panicked thoughts and considered her intentions.

_:Are you awake?:_ came a quiet sound.

Well, yes, but that was beside the point of course. He stomped on what he wanted to say and focused on the connection, letting the partition between their minds dissipate so they could talk.

_:Yes.:_ he answered, making sure he let the tiredness his body felt fill his emotional self so she knew that she was disturbing him.

Unexpectedly, she went through the now invisible partition and cuddled her mind against his. He was briefly surprised before he smiled an actual smile, letting its warmth fill his soul cavity.

Of course.

While she knew he didn't want to talk about this, she knew of course that he wouldn't mind doing it again.

It resembled the first time, because it was particularly close and insanely sexual, but it was also different because of the way in which they both handled it. While both of them had been confused before, they were both now sure of what was happening. Hermione, he knew, was shy; she would not be able to hide that fact in the morning, when he knew she would be regretting starting the connection up again. He let this thought bubble to his mind, knowing that she would feel it; she was bashful for a few seconds before pushing it away.

However amazing this felt, to have his mind and soul shared with someone who could understand it, he knew that they were both afraid to try anything with it. She could press her stark naked mind against his all she wanted, but once they forced themselves back into their physical selves... things changed. There, it seemed a little more absolute, a little more final, and a little more nerve-wracking. At least, he figured it would be.

Although, everything in his life had always felt more real because of his emotions, not because of his senses.

The connection threatened to spill over into the physical after a while; even though he had detached from his physical self, he could still feel his heart begin to speed as Hermione's thin hand reached across his chest in an attempt to get closer emotionally. His mind receded a bit, merging slightly with his physical self, and his body started to react to the pleasure his mind was receiving.

The girl probably didn't realize that she had done it; being so absolutely close to him emotionally was obviously making her delirious again. This thrilled him a bit, and he consciously let go of the last shred of doubt and hesitance in his mind, allowing himself to feel happy that even if she didn't feel the way he felt about her, she was not opposed to connecting with him this way.

* * *

Hermione awoke slowly, noting that her back was exposed to a raw chill that came with the early morning. The warming spell that she had cast the night before had worn off, though it was supposed to last through the next afternoon. It was so much easier to stay asleep when she opened her eyes to darkness and closed them to vision... her dream had definitely not wanted to be interrupted by dull blackness and a cold butt -

Oh!

The warmth in front of her was Draco's back, which she was nearly flush against, her arm draping around him. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, wondering when she had done that.

She carefully attempted to remove her arm, not knowing if there was anything in the way; she realized almost immediately that he was clutching her hand lightly.

_Well, there's no reason for me to get up if he's still asleep,_ she rationalized, secretly enjoying the warmth versus the cold at her back. She discreetly moved a bit closer and fell back asleep.

It was late morning when she awoke again; she was warm all over, but there was definitely nothing in front of her now. She kept her eyes closed and listened.

Draco was standing a few paces in front of the entrance to the cave, having a conversation on the cell phone.

" - would be dangerous, and you know it... No, don't play dumb with me, Potter; the second you try to 'covertly' investigate the location, the rest of the department will be all over it, and then the Minister would get all pippy about it and demand search parties and whatnot... what? No!... no, that's not it... Look, you're just going to have to trust me. I've told you her weakness, and now you know... so? The least you can do is get some trustworthy and practiced people together and train them - wait, Hermione's awake."

Hermione sat up, wondering what gave her away. "Is that Harry?" she asked, stretching her repairing muscles.

"Yes, it is - hold on a second, did you hear what I said? Yes - get people and _train_ them. You know that is what No Name would do... well, if you want a bunch of bumbling idiots to try to take her down, then be my guest, but you are _not_ going to get Hermione killed because you think you can handle it... hey... _shut it, I'm just saying_... YES, I THINK I CAN DO IT BETTER!"

Hermione cringed as she heard some birds leave the trees in the distance. Hadn't he put a silencing charm on the area? "You're shouting around while our enemies are bearing down upon us - give me the phone!" she stood up.

Draco stalked over to her and thrust the cell phone into her hands. A confused look came over his face when their fingers touched briefly, but he was too angry to think about it now. He plopped down on the blanket.

"Harry? It's Hermione."

_"... Hi, Hermione! How is everything?"_

"Fine... I just woke up."

_"Well, I guess I meant to ask how things are as Malfoy's prisoner."_

She knew that they would have this conversation sooner or later. "Hold on," she said quickly and removed the phone from her ear. "I need to talk to Harry, Draco. Would you mind?"

"Whatever you need to say, you can say it in front of me." Hermione's face hardened, and Draco knew he wasn't going to win this one. "Fine. But keep it short." He got up and left the cave.

"Okay... things are fine with us."

_"I guess I'm still in shock that you don't mind being there with him. I thought for sure you were in absolute hell and couldn't wait to get back to us... but you seemed fine."_

Hermione's heart fell a bit - yes, she knew what she was supposed to feel around him, and what she was supposed to feel now that she'd been given an excellent opportunity to be rid of him and had blatantly ignored it. "Please don't make me feel guilty, Harry. You know how things can change."

_"I want you to feel guilty, so I don't have to accept it... so I'm sorry; I know this is on me. Ron isn't taking this well though."_

"How much have you told him?"

_"I told him that you guys like each other."_

Hermione was silent for a few seconds before she let him have it. "Are you completely _mad?_ You know what Ron is like with things like this - he must be furious! Besides our relationship _not_ being romantic, where is your tact, Harry James Potter? I ought to hex you where you stand!"

_"Don't be like that, when you know it's your fault anyway,"_ he snapped. "_You should have told Ron yourself; instead, I had to watch him break apart."_

"No," Hermione mumbled, shaking her head. "I won't let you do this to me because it's Malfoy."

_"That's only a tiny part of this, and you know it. This has everything to do with betrayal, wasted effort, and making us look and feel like idiots because in reality, you two were just fine together, alone, shagging in the bloody forest!"_

Hermione gasped, and her face turned red. She immediately thought of what she had done the previous night, and the guilt that she had rejected before began to seep into her heart. "It's not like that, and I'm downright insulted that you'd think that about me, Harry!" she retorted shakily.

_"I don't care. I honestly don't. And here's another thing - "_ There was some arguing in the background, and the line suddenly changed tones.

_"Hermione?"_

Hermione forced herself to calm down. "Is this Nora?"

_"Yes. I apologize about Harry's behavior; he's got more mood swings than a pregnant woman - don't give me that look, Harry Potter! He's just surprised about the change in your relationship with Malfoy."_

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

_"None of us can wrap our heads around it, but they are taking it exceptionally poorly since you all have a history with him."_

"He's acting like we eloped or something, it's maddening! He knows me better than that."

_"I wouldn't worry about it - he'll come around, as will your other friends. On a more serious note, I do have a few questions for you. I'm beginning to build a case for this, since I have a feeling it will inevitably lead to Master No Name's downfall. Is there anything you can tell me about you two's mission?"_

"Just that we're going to find a way to take out her, only her, and thus leave the Death Eaters leaderless and unable to mobilize."

_"In order to do that, wouldn't you need to know the location of the Death Eater's base of operations?"_

Hermione knew where this was going. "He hasn't told me where it is, and even if he had, I couldn't tell you. The more people that know about it, the more chance there is that everything will blow up in our faces."

Nora clucked her tongue. _"Jesse told us the same thing. So Draco is the only one who knows the location?"_

"Yes."

_"I see. Secondly, I wanted to ask about your relationship with Draco. How did you two come to like each other?_"

Hermione wanted to refute the question, saying that they did not like each other like that... Harry's outburst still rang in her ears, and she felt her face begin to pink again... but even though she knew she could not admit it, it was probably true. "We're friends, Nora," she said, hoping the other woman would not find the response odd.

_"Yes, I said that, but how did it happen?"_

Oh no! She had been testing her to see how Hermione had taken the question; now she must know that there is something more going on than just friendship. Hermione suppressed her panic. "I could probably blame it on the circumstances. I'm blind... so I need someone to make sure I don't smack into things; the Death Eaters want me for some plan, so in order to foil it Draco needed to keep me away from them."

_"Ah... I'll touch on the plan in a second, but before I forget, I must ask you about the day you were kidnapped - how did it happen?"_

Hermione sighed. "I was walking back to the house I was staying in after eating out, and two Death Eaters came around the corner and disarmed me. I ran, ran for at least ten minutes... and then they zapped me with the Noctulous Curse just as I saw Draco come from out of the shadows. And... I blacked out after that. The next thing I knew, Draco was carrying me through the forest."

_"Okay..."_ Nora was obviously trying to make notes on a parchment pad. _"What about after that? Where did you two go?"_

"Hermione, I hope you aren't giving her a full synopsis of what's happened since that night."

She ignored him, wondering how long he had been standing there. "We had the occasional run-in with a Death Eater, but managed to avoid them until we supplied in Shandwick, a small village north of Edinburgh."

"You say 'we' as if you had some part in any of this - " Draco grumbled, looking away. Harry had put him in a foul mood, and he didn't want to think about how awful he had been to her in those first weeks.

_"And they found you, and tried to capture you there, destroying the place in the process. After that, we thought you had traveled south to London and went to France from there... or maybe apparated until you ended up in France somehow, because we had evidence that pointed us there. How did you get to Norway?"_

"Muggle boat," she said, ignoring Draco's hand on her arm. "The family we were staying with when you came was the family of the boat owner."

"Don't do it, Granger," Draco whispered. "If they know that the Worthingtons were involved in dark artifact trafficking, they won't release Jesse to find your cure."

Hermione stopped. He had a point, but she thought that she knew Nora better than to think she would imprison Jesse. She covered the phone mouthpiece. "If I tell her and ask her not to imprison Jesse, she'll find a way. Besides, maybe the Ministry has access to such cures; she might not even have to search."

Draco shrugged. "Either way, be careful." Jesse was a decent person and a valuable asset to their cause; Draco did not want her to be under Ministry control for very long.

"Frank Worthington used the boat for dark artifact trafficking, though the family was supposedly muggle; we didn't find out that the daughters were witches until later."

_"What about the mother, Sasha? Was she a witch? We did find faint traces of previous spell damage on her person, so we figured her to be a witch who traded her wizard lifestyle for a muggle one."_

"Well, she knew about my - wait a second, what do you mean, 'was'?"

_"... She died that morning. Rubinoff broke her neck."_

Hermione's breath caught; she dropped the phone and let her tired body fall to the rocky ground, gasping.

Draco took out his wand quickly. "Breathe, Hermione! _Anapneo!_"

She choked briefly, her hand over her heart.

He picked up the phone. "Thanks, Constable. You made her choke."

_"Please call me Nora - and I apologize; I thought you had told her."_

"No, I didn't. Of course not."

_"... Well, in any case, forgive the whole inquisition thing, but since we have the means to contact you, we now have our best witnesses for this case available for questioning."_

"I thought you lot were planning on sending me off to Azkaban."

_"If you had wanted to avoid Azkaban, then you'd have turned Hermione in immediately after rescuing her from her pursuers. You'd be in Azkaban right now, looking forward to a few months from now when your case could be appealed or you'd get off on good behavior and can start your life fresh. Now you are looking at years, possibly ten to fifteen if you turn her in, and if not, twenty-five to life imprisonment for riding this out."_

"You're lecturing again," he informed her, his amused mask hiding the fear in his heart.

_"I tend to do that. Anyway, I was asking her about your activities since her 'disappearance.' I wanted to know so that we can see the pattern. I have other questions for her of course, whenever she is ready to tell me the answers."_

"So it's not me you want to talk to, then."

_"I never said that. You and I will have a serious conversation in the future, but right now I need to hear her side first. So whenever she's feeling up to it, call us back, and if not, we'll call again in a few days."_

Draco nodded. "Alright then. We'll talk later." He closed the phone, disconnecting, and faced Hermione. "You know these mobile things suck - I could barely hear her, the connection was so bad... Hermione?"

She shook her head, tears falling from between the fingers covering her face. "It's because... the reception... in this area..."

Draco didn't really know what to do - he could count on one hand the number of times he had ever comforted someone, and he had never consoled anyone after a friend had died.

"Hermione..." His arms found their way around her, and Loki came out of nowhere then, rubbing her side against Hermione's leg, forcing the girl out of her fetal position. Hermione picked the cat up and hugged her, not being able to see Draco's disappointed look.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ The song for this chapter is "So Simple" by Alicia Keys.


	22. Love Is Not the Enemy

_"Thy beauty shall no more be found,  
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound  
My echoing song; then worms shall try  
That long preserv'd virginity,  
And your quaint honour turn to dust,  
And into ashes all my lust.  
The grave's a fine and private place,  
But none I think do there embrace."  
- Andrew Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress" _

**Chapter Twenty-two: Love Is Not the Enemy**

She had been shut in her chambers for a few hours now, knowing that it was very unlikely that anyone would disturb her until she was ready to be. With the abduction mission a failure, she needed to focus her mind on a different part of the overall plan to calm down.

Hermione Granger was proving to be more trouble than she was worth.

Despite the slow dismantling of the muggleborn prosecution system that the Ministry and magical world had adopted, Master had expected that capturing Granger would be somewhat simple. Hermione Granger was supposed to become the posterchild for such efforts, especially since she was the woman who'd had so much to do with the Dark Lord's demise despite her filthy blood.

Master traced a finger along the wood of her new device. Oh yes - she would retrieve the Granger girl's memories first - memories of the internal goings on of the Order of the Phoenix, memories of the intense weaknesses that Harry Potter and others had, memories of the most private musings of her friend... through her, the dark side could bring him down for the pain he had delivered, for the uproar that a seventeen year old boy had caused.

She hated him with every fiber of her being.

Then after the memories, she would break dear Hermione against the machine. But first... she needed to know if it would work. Would it purify her?

Master had thought about this many times: what was it that made Hermione Granger, and other people like her, what they were? What was the composition of a mudblood?

She was a scientist above all else, a researcher conducting a grand experiment. She would be the first to dissect the wizard gene, the smallest code of DNA that made people magical versus non.

And then, she could purify the rest of the world.

She was so close, and Hermione Granger was the missing piece of the puzzle, because she fit so perfectly. Two shots against the great Harry Potter, two shots against the mudblood population... and the gift of magic for the rest of humankind.

But this could only happen if Hermione was captured.

Oh, she'd have her fun with her for causing so much trouble...

* * *

"It's time we stopped the defense and started our offense."

Hermione nodded, rubbing small circles in the glossy surface of her conjured apple. She was getting addicted to this fruit. "I agree."

He looked at her closely, seeing the sadness behind her expression. He knew that she was still grieving over the loss of Sasha, who had been the comforting, motherly figure that she had needed to overcome the fear of her blindness. "Hermione, realize that we have quite a while to travel before we reach there. Portkey would be fastest, but it would also be the easiest to trace. I talked to Nora; she suspects that this is how the Death Eaters found our exact location."

"Harry took a _portkey_ to Norway? Is he mad?"

Draco shrugged. "Nora said that Master sent her cronies to Norway much before that and had managed to find someone who remembered seeing us that day we went shopping - a priest. They killed him as bait for Potter's outfit, and Potter of course took the bait. After the portkey was registered, Death Eaters probably figured out that we were staying with a supplier since a boat was the safest way to get to Norway... and that would have led them to scout out the Worthington house."

Hermione took a bite. He was making a lot of assumptions, especially concerning the intelligence of Death Eaters. Hermione knew that usually, only the leaders were intelligent; the rest were there to follow orders. It was more likely that there was some other forces at work that they did not know about. "So it was coincidence that Harry and the Death Eaters arrived at the same time?"

"Probably. Though we can assume nothing." Hermione raised her eyebrows. "The only other thing I can think of to get there... is the muggle way." There was a slight note of disgust in his voice.

She picked up on this immediately; she could sense racism like the rest of her kind, since she was brought up to look down on no one. "Please tell me you aren't still hanging on to your beliefs about race, Draco."

Draco folded and unfolded his his hands. "I... can't help it... it's hard to get over."

Hermione nodded slowly, letting the waves of disappointment crash over her. "It's really quite easy to get over," she replied tartly. "I know wizards are brought up to think of muggles as animals, as a species no better than monkeys, but since you have spent almost a whole month in the _home_ of muggles, and nearly two months in the presence of a muggleborn, I would _assume_ that you have learned something about these races."

Draco shook his head. He was of course confused about the conflicting information; he had grown to respect Hermione, Jesse, Amy, Sasha, Tim, and Frank as people rather than as individuals belonging to certain races.

Frank had confused him the most - he'd looked into the eyes of the inferior being and had wished he could be as carefree, wished he could be as giving and as friendly. While Frank didn't exactly make an honest living, he was as honest as he could be with it, and was blissfully unaware of the sensitivity and maliciousness of the cargo he was "sneakily" transporting.

Tim was another story; while the man had gotten on Draco's nerves because in personality he seemed to resemble the bookworm caricature of Hermione Granger, he was also exceedingly helpful and caring. He was another inferior being, one who Draco probably disliked because he envied that kind of attitude toward life, where it was okay to give and give and just appreciate waking up to sunlight.

Jesse was a witch, but was living a half life, the life of a witch under the guise of a muggle. She was half-blood, and yet was more intelligent and more cunning than a lot of Draco's pureblood acquaintances; he wouldn't wish any of his former mates to have a duel with her, because not only were they likely to have their egos and values completely shat upon, but they were also likely to be missing an arm or two afterward.

Hermione... he couldn't even think of the countless times he'd been mean to her. Of course, he'd thought nothing of it before. To him she had always been just another mudblood; the only thing that made her stand out was how easily she invited torment based on her personality, interests, and friends. But in reality, she was intelligent, strong, and extremely loving and sincere.

Yes... the lot of them just completely muddled his beliefs. He still could not get the neanderthal picture out of his head when he thought about muggles, but he also knew in his head that some muggles and half-breeds were worth respecting.

"How do you think of me, Draco? I know you hate me... you've hated me all this time, haven't you?"

He turned to face her, willing the strong aversion to her statement to die before he said anything he would regret. "Let's focus on how we are getting to the Death Eater base - "

"_Haven't you?_" Her black eyes were glossed over with tears.

He needed to say something to dispel this thought from her head, but what was he to say? Should he tell her the truth - that despite her birth, despite her previous relationship with him, and despite her allegiance to Potter, he was...

He was _falling_ for her?

"Hermione, I - "

"See? I can't tell you how many times you've called me 'Hermione' since that morning! It was always 'Granger.' It had always been that, or 'Mudblood' when you were feeling mean."

"Look, you know I - "

"Stop dancing around the bloody question! Do you hate me? I should - _expelliarmus!_"

Draco's wand left his pocket and clattered against a tree a few yards away, falling into the foliage beneath it. Hermione threw down her apple and started toward him clumsily, her wand raised.

"Hermione, we don't have time for this - "

"_Au contraire._ We've got nothing _but_ time for this!"

Draco's back made contact with a wide tree trunk; Hermione's wand tip was now poking into his chest. Though she was as blind as she had been the second that spell had hit her, she looked as though she was staring directly at him, directly through him. At this proximity, he could distinctly see tan freckles dotted across her pale nose, and small, black dots splayed at random in her already black eyes. He could see the light sheen that her forehead and nose had, the small baby hairs lining her hairline...

In all reality, he could have been out of this new predicament in two seconds, and he knew this. But... this was delicate. He knew better than to further jostle her about when she approached raving lunatic status.

Hermione's resolve faltered as his breath pooled on her face. Her fierce expression began to harden with sadness. She sucked in a gasp, trying to keep tears from falling. "To think that all this time, I've been understanding you, been dissecting your pain, and have even felt guilty, felt sorry, for you... I wanted to see through you and piece together the memories that we share now because of that night... I wanted to hurt the world for making you feel like that."

Draco gulped - the apple-cider smell of her breath was almost painful to have so close.

"I felt bad for every ill thought I ever had about you... but you could see none of that... the only thing you ever saw was my unworthiness, your own hatred for my kind - "

"Hermione, no..."

"Don't even say anything right now, I could hex you into oblivion... I could actually kill you right now." She faltered slightly, her brain beginning to scramble. She... she had to ignore the warmth of his body and her own cowardice and just say it. "Because you don't even realize how good it felt to know you like that."

_Safe_, Draco's mind echoed. _Be safe..._

No. He didn't want to be safe anymore. If he had wanted to stay safe, he should have never been brought into this world, because there was no such thing as safety, no such thing as security. Life threw at you what it wanted, and you did what you had to do to keep afloat.

Draco pushed down the warning and cleared his mind before he could chicken out. She was about to say something else, and he could see it, in her face, that she was about to admit it to. Maybe he was imagining things again, or maybe he was bringing his own fantasy to the real world to mix what was real and what wasn't... but he was tired of having to be sure.

All at once, Draco pushed her wand out of the way and wrapped her in a fierce hug.

She must have died, for everything she had been trying to push down filled every cell in her body. Her fingertips tingled as she reached to grip his back.

His hands were suddenly on either side of her face, rubbing the tears that had escaped over her skin.

"Don't," she mumbled, tears falling, as he held her so close she was sure he could feel her rushing heart. Her body rejoiced as she felt the individual indentations in his fingertips rub against her cheeks; they were so clearly the same ones that had rubbed the drying blood off her battered skin on a night that felt so far away, on a night where he'd healed her. She wanted to hit him, beat him with tired fists over and over until she had no fight left in her; she wanted to make him understand what she felt every time he was close to her, every time he did something that surprised her and made her feel whole.

Draco brought his face down to hers, wanting to devour her skin first; his lips traced from her eyes to her jaw, and he unconsciously let his mind detach itself from his body. Before he knew it, he was as blind as she, trying to absorb her soul and everything she was feeling into himself.

Finally, he kissed her mouth, tasting every one of her emotions mixed with the apple she had been eating.

She broke away, knowing that her head was beating like a drum and willing it to stop. "I... I can't do this."

"Kiss now, talk later," he whispered, closing the distance between them again.

He backed them away from the tree, knowing that she was using him for support; his hands gripped her waist, feeling her skin as her shirt rode up. She tentatively kissed him back, pushing her body against his.

Seconds later, her hands weakly pushed against his chest, enough to let him know that she wanted to stop. Draco brought his mind back to reality.

"I'm serious," she mumbled, though her low voice and her now wandering hands said otherwise.

He released her, taking a step back. What was happening? He thought that she felt the same way! "Why?"

Hermione shook her head, feeling the loss of connection immediately and not needing to see him to know that he was wearing a distinctly hurt expression. "I already feel guilty enough."

"... Is this about Potter and Weasley?"

She nodded.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, anger starting to boil in his heart. "That night, that time... please tell me that what just happened was not a spur of the moment thing for you."

Hermione shook her head quickly. "It wasn't, not at all."

"Then what is the problem?"

She turned her head away from his hurt tone. No matter what happened, she _was_ going to break someone... it was just all about who she really wanted to suffer. Should she be selfish and go for it? "I don't know. It's just... they already think the worst about us traveling alone together - "

Draco scoffed, walking around her. After a second, he turned back to face her again, his voice the epitome of control. "If they already think that, then once again, what is the problem?"

Hermione sighed. "You're right. There is no problem. But it doesn't make it any less difficult."

He nodded matter-of-factly, not willing to acknowledge the moment that was now ruined. He turned around and picked their wands up from among the leaves.

His face hardened a bit as he went back to her and took her hand. "If you feel guilty, then maybe this isn't the best idea," he muttered, opening her fingers and closing them around her wand.

"Wha - what is that supposed to mean?"

Draco looked at her squarely, his words turning cold. "Nora made me an offer, and I told her no. She asked me to return you to your friends and the Ministry, in exchange for a lighter Azkaban sentence."

Hermione stood there, stunned. Nora would make him such an offer? She did have some control over the Wizengamot, but the only thing she could do here was plead in his defense, and even then there was still a chance that he'd serve a maximum sentence for every crime he ever committed. All of that was likely to amount to life imprisonment, without bail for at least 25 years.

Then again, it was definitely a better deal than facing death if they did not succeed, or life in Azkaban without possibility of bail if he waited until they did succeed. In fact, only a madman would pointedly reject such an offer. "You... you chose me over a better life in the long run?"

Whatever he had been about to say dissipated. He hadn't expected her to take it that way - he'd expected her to get angry with him, or ask him why he didn't take advantage of such a great opportunity. Consequently, his tone warmed a bit, though his expression remained cold.

"I chose to have you with me now, to have your company now. I chose to be selfish." His voice took on that depressed quality it had whenever he talked about the past.

Hermione shook her head. "You basically sacrificed the happiness of the rest of your existence for my _company_. You didn't say love - you said company... I'm not worth such a thing."

"Don't say that," he said, coming towards her again; his heart was starting to race again. "You are worth it."

Despite the fact that they had only moments before kissed, Hermione still blushed at his words. She couldn't help but be insecure about all relationships until she was absolutely sure of them - even her friendship with Harry and Ron had gone this way.

Draco was too afraid to try to hug her again, try to touch her again like that. Every impulsive fiber in his body had left, leaving a grounded shell that wondered even at the words he was speaking. "That's why I wanted to keep you to myself a bit longer - you are completely worth it." He watched her expression.

"You've... you're so different than I thought, it's maddening... I just... let's talk about the mission, or something, before I faint..."

"Fine," Draco said, his emotional mask reforming a bit to allow him to heal from the abrupt stop to the romantic moment.

The opportunity for heavy admissions was escaping, and she knew it, so before he got more than a few feet away Hermione blurted out, "I feel the same way - I'd rather stay with you than go back."

He stopped, his expression wavering. She walked forward tentatively, reaching out with her senses and her mind to find him.

_:Do you feel this?:_ she asked, and stepped into his personal space.

She shared her memories, memories of how her body reacted when he was close. He could feel her emotions as if they were his own - she was overheating, feeling a million sensations at once. Her heart beat crescendoed in his head.

"That's what you feel for me?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes."

"Then... what else is there?"

Hermione closed her eyes, trying desperately to create the image of him in her head, desperately to attach the Draco Malfoy she remembered to the complicated boy standing in front of her. She couldn't do it - she couldn't even think about the past, think about Hogwarts, Harry, or Ron. "There is nothing else."

He nodded, trying to keep his emotions in, keep them smothered, so he wouldn't scream. He wanted to jump up and down, wanted to release his built up energy; instead, he put his hands on either side of her arms, looking at her squarely.

"I do not think of you as a muggleborn; I think of you as Hermione. Please understand."

She nodded, her apology for her ranting radiating off her. "I understand."

"_Wingardium leviosa_... _evanesco_... I think this is yours."

Hermione smiled as her fingers enclosed around the apple, as clean and smooth as it had been before she'd dropped it.

* * *

_Author's note:_ The song for this chapter is "Infinity" by The XX; my Livejournal (linked on my profile page) contains the full song list now. Also, if you would like to submit any fanart, just send me a link.


	23. Sometimes Selling Out is Giving Up

_"We're never so vulnerable than when we trust someone - but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy." - Walter Anderson_

**Chapter Twenty-three: Sometimes Selling Out is Giving Up**

Harry sat back in his chair, watching the scenes playing out on the wall in front of him.

There was something to be said for the power of a projector versus going into the memories themselves; he had almost forgotten the mystery of watching things on a two dimensional surface.

It was there. It definitely _was_ there.

The tension was almost tangible, despite the fact it came from a flat, moving picture. Even though it made his heart twist, he could not help but acknowledge the looks he gave her. Perhaps Malfoy was less careful with his expression since Hermione was blind, or perhaps Hermione did not realize that even though _she_ was blind, Malfoy was not. But whatever the case, it was definitely plain to anyone watching that there was sexual tension between them.

The memories changed; they turned into memories that had belonged to Sasha Worthington. He cringed as Hermione, clad in dirty clothes and black sunglasses, smiled and gave a slight bow to Sasha as thanks. From his viewing point in the memories, it looked like she was bowing to him.

* * *

They traveled faster, apparating often and finding themselves in Sweden before long. Loki was her usual self, meowing and rubbing her head against Hermione's neck as she cuddled her; Draco had taken to carrying Hermione again, sometimes letting her ride on his back. He had to be careful to focus on his footsteps when they did this however, since he could distinctly feel her breasts on his shoulder blades and had to watch his hand placement on her legs to avoid touching something he shouldn't.

It was tempting, to be sure... but her thin hands grabbing the front of his shirt already had him preoccupied enough.

He did have to give himself a break; carrying her either way all the time made his back ache... among other things.

"We should be going south now," Draco said, looking towards the setting sun. "And then maybe hit civilization again."

Hermione nodded, placing Loki on the ground and removing the loose cat fur from her shirt with a few brushes or her hand. The air was still cold; Hermione was getting used to it however, and found a warming charm to be quite unnecessary.

Draco started as the mobile rung from inside the bag. He rummaged around until he found it and flipped it open.

"Potter."

_"Malfoy. It's Ginny Weasley."_

Draco stared straight ahead, not knowing what to say.

_"Hello?"_

"Yes, Weaslette?"

_"I wanted to ask you something before I give the mobile to Nora." _

A tinge of fear sputtered in Draco's heart. If she was going to ask what he thought she was, he really did not want to hear it.

_"Please tell me that you are for real."_

Draco looked towards Hermione, who had her head craned towards him.

"I... don't want to discuss this now, Weaslette."

_"Lookit, you prick. Just tell me if you are jerking her about, because I'd rather you tell me now then have me find out later."_

He looked at his feet. "I am being completely sincere."

_"Let's hope, for your sake. You may have convinced Harry, but the rest of us are smarter than to trust you for a second."_

"I'm... sorry to hear that."

_"Whatever, Malfoy. Here's Nora."_

Draco looked back at Hermione, and was startled by the smile she was sporting.

"What's so funny?"

She shook her head mirthfully. "They are so predictable."

_"Hello again, Draco. As you can imagine, I have some questions for you."_

"Fine."

_"Firstly, I was wondering what the Death Eaters specifically want with Hermione."_

"They wanted to kidnap her and use her for information about the Department of International Cooperation, The Order of the Phoenix, and Potter. Then maybe imperious her. At least, that's what we figured out." He left out a the part about the shipment of goods Frank Worthington sent them that is supposedly going to help with this.

There was silence as Nora took this down._ "Now I wanted to ask you specifically about your 'mission.' What are your exact intentions?"_

He shook his head, knowing that if he told her, she would start lecturing him about how ridiculous it all was and then would proposition him again. "We are going sneak into the Death Eater's base of operations and take out the leader. Then, we are going to destroy their communication mechanisms. Leave them blind, so to speak."

_"Have you drawn up your specific plan of attack? You don't have to give away the location - I'm just curious as to where your head is at."_

"We haven't drawn up the specifics," he replied shortly.

_"I thought not. In that case, I have an idea."_

"... Okay, shoot."

_"We will find a cure for Hermione's blindness. Noctulous, correct? We've taken a look at Jesse's research and we may be able to get something. We will then need to meet you somewhere to hand it off."_

"I'm not liking the sound of that, Constable."

_"I thought you wouldn't. Jesse has already told us that you were reluctant to accept her help. But you have to understand the importance of what you are attempting and how if anything goes wrong, it can end very badly. For you especially, and for the wizarding world."_

Hermione's hands found their way to his shoulders tentatively. "What's happening?"

Draco ignored his increased heart rate and turned his attention back on the phone. "Don't you think I realize that?"

_"I'm just saying. So I need you to try to work with us a little more closely."_

"Whatever. I don't trust you."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Then, Nora quietly replied, _"I don't need you to trust me - I need you to trust the cause. And that is not very hard to do."_

Draco lowered his arm as Hermione felt around for the phone. He handed the mobile to her.

"Nora? Please understand how difficult this is for him."

_"I understand perfectly. Trusting people hasn't ever gotten him very far - I was the same way. But there comes a time where you have to put what you feel aside and do what is right. We're all trying that even by going along with his scheme."_

"I don't agree with getting more people involved, but I will try to talk to him."

_"I'll call back later then."_

"Yes. Thank you."

Hermione closed the phone, letting her other hand linger on Draco's back.

"Don't," he said, not moving. "I don't want to hear it."

"I know," she murmured. "Just think about it."

The understanding was there. With Hermione, there was no lecturing anymore, no meaningless words and psychobabble designed to wear him thin. It was just her body and her mind, just knowing.

"You're amazing," he said suddenly.

There was a loud ringing sound in Hermione's ears as she tried to keep from fainting. She braced herself against his back. "I'm what?"

Draco shook his head, wondering if he'd gone insane. He walked toward Loki and picked her up. "We should get moving again."

* * *

After settling down for the night, Draco approached Hermione about their mission. If they had any chance of getting all of this over with, they needed to begin moving in a positive direction. He was feeling really good, actually - Hermione was slowly sapping away his sadness, just draining it out of him like poison draining from a snakebite. Draco moved so the root under their blanket wasn't digging into his backside.

"Canada? _That's_ where they are?"

"It's hard to believe, yes... which is why it is the perfect place."

"Canada is enormous - what city is it near?"

"Calgary, to the west. It's not that close to Calgary, but... close enough for the city to be a landmark for it. They've hidden the magic aura with the mountains and forests along the major highway up there. It's basically Yukon wilderness for miles, save for a few small resting areas every so often and a sparse collection of towns."

Hermione nodded slowly. She found it hard to believe that the Death Eaters could have relocated in such a seemingly random place. "So how are we getting there? What is a safe distance for a drop point?"

Draco looked down. This was the hard part to comprehend. "Really, the only safe place is somewhere in the United States. That bit of land they own next to Canada, or the mainland."

"_That far?_"

"I wouldn't say it if I wasn't serious."

Hermione shook her head, processing this. So they had to get across the world, passing through numerous countries and territories, just to get to some spot not even close to the actual location?

"We'll have to fly. It's the fastest and safest way."

"... Fly?"

"As in, get in an airplane and fly there."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "If air-planes are anything like brooms, I think I'll take my chances with a portkey."

"They're nothing like brooms - they are just like giant, flying buses."

Draco's experience riding the Knight Bus was not a good one; he hoped it was a smoother ride than that. "And... how long will this muggle flying can method take?"

"Days, probably. Just flying to America takes 12 hours at least, depending on where we land. That doesn't count getting from there to Canada, if we fly to Canada. Not to mention the fact that we have serious research to do, research that cannot be done in Swedish forests."

Yes, he knew what she was talking about; wizards thought they had it so bad with filling out a form to get a registered portkey. Muggles went through a lot more paperwork, paid a lot more money, and had a worse, more lengthy experience on the trip itself. He wondered briefly how they managed. "So we need muggle documents and such. I doubt a Confundus Charm could get us all the way through."

Hermione smiled slyly. "Well, it could, especially since we need to make this quick... but we still need to know where we are going, what flight to take, and maybe some passports - not to mention the ticket information - "

He covered his ears. "I have no idea what you are on about - 'flights' and 'passports' and tickets - "

"Harry will know. I should ask him."

Draco shook his head. She was trying to open the discussion and he wouldn't allow it. "We are alone in this - there is no guarantee that he won't get the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to conjure up a few Aurors for him to send away and have a look around... no. We will just have to wing it."

"But - we need information, we need destinations and - is there even an airport near here?"

"Air-port?"

Hermione closed her eyes. Doing this the muggle way was going to be a lot more trouble than the magical way, in the end. "How about this... we take a portkey to some big city down south. We find an airport there."

"You still haven't told me what an air-port is."

"From there, we'll cross the sea in an airplane... I bet no flight goes all the way to the other end of Canada, so we'll probably drop off in the United States somewhere... and then from there go to Canada? Maybe Washington, then... what cities are on the west side of the United States? Los Angeles maybe. But there is bound to be more airports along the way, and then we'll take a flight from there to Canada, or that bit of American land next to it... maybe someone will give us a ride to our destination, or we could steal - excuse me, borrow - a muggle car to take us close enough where we can walk into the mountains."

Draco was silent for a few seconds, surprised by how quickly she had spun a plan, before he broke out into an evil smirk. "You know, I had always thought you were really bookish and swotty, but now I find... your problem-solving side is really sexy."

Hermione's blush reached into her hairline; defensively, she retorted in a haughty, albeit slightly wavering, tone. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Malfoy."

"Hmm... call me Mr. Malfoy again."

"Mr. Malfoy?" she said uncertainly.

Draco reached out and brushed her fringe away from her forehead. "Yes, definitely very sexy."

"You... make it really hard to concentrate when you turn the charm on full force."

"Ah," he muttered, his hand now tracing a line down her frame. "I do that."

"_Anyway_... If we find a flight going to Washington then we're set for the rest of - _blimey_..."

"We are done talking about this," he murmured, his hand leaving her leg and cupping her face again. "I want to do this properly, before I stop myself." His amused tone was gone, replaced by the very real and very sober Draco that had hugged her so fiercely before.

"Do what, exactly?"

"You know." He was leaning towards her, backing her up against the tree they were reclining under. Hermione reached out with her mind uncertainly.

:_I thought we'd talk about this before we made anything final.:_ It was a mouse-like request that she didn't feel in her heart, he knew, but he didn't blame her for the need to say it.

Draco came back to reality, feeling his heart fill with something like assurance. "I agreed to no such thing. Besides, nothing has to be final, or talked about... nothing has to matter. This can just be two people giving in, two people just going with it." This thought excited him, made all the pain that came with torturing himself over her cower in the corner of his being.

Hermione nodded, already overcome by the brilliance of it, his proximity, and the knowledge of what was coming. "Fast and loose, no heartbreak or commitment issues or seriousness..."

"Just this," he whispered against her cheek, and moved the short distance to her lips.

* * *

_Author's note:_ The song for this chapter is "Alone en la Vida" by L'Arc-en-Ciel. Make sure you visit my profile page for links to the trailers!


	24. Through the Dark

_"Silence is the safest course for any man to adopt who distrusts himself." - François de la Rochefoucauld_

**Chapter Twenty-four: Through the Dark**

Hermione had, against her will, been thinking about a lot for the better part of the night.

It seemed like only yesterday she had been smothered by Draco's internal pain; their flight from Master No Name was fresh in her memories, as was her embarrassing conversation with Harry.

So after Draco had kissed her, only hours before... she'd had the bizarre urge to throttle him.

It was too violent a thought to go without analysis.

Why were they pretending that things were getting so much better all of a sudden? It seemed like she had been drowning for weeks, trying to steady her breathing next to him every night on the Worthington's futon, under that large, fluffy comforter. And suddenly her airways had been unblocked by the very source of her choking!

She was being irrational again. _Just stop it. You always think too much, and you know it._

They had understood each other perfectly in that moment - _fast and loose, no heartbreak or commitment issues or seriousness... nothing has to matter..._ but no. After she had thought about it thoroughly, she had concluded that just based on the way their feelings had come about... it was impossible to have a light, happy relationship.

This was something way different - this wasn't anything close to the surface of their skin. This was like... the joining of souls.

"Are you still awake?" she asked aloud.

"Yes, actually," he whispered back. He was facing away from her.

Hermione attempted to choose her next words carefully, but knew that as soon as she let them fly she would regret them. "This is really weird still."

Draco sighed and waited a few seconds before replying. "Because it's so different. From everything else."

"Yes."

"I'm rushing things, aren't I?"

She'd had this problem with Viktor, actually - for a while he had been content to just watch her study, or play with her hair while she read a book... but when he'd begun trying to kiss her, or do something of that sort, she'd always pushed him away. It had definitely annoyed him after a while, though he had still liked her. "No, it's not that. It's just... different. I'm sorry if I sound like a prude."

His serious tone turned warm. "That's... not at all what you sound like, or what I was talking about. I mean with us, not with... that."

Hermione blushed. Why was she always the first one to jump to conclusions? "Right. Sorry."

There was silence for a few seconds. Draco smirked. "Well, if you want, I know a contraceptive charm - "

"_No_," Hermione huffed, a little annoyed at herself. She had walked _right_ into that one, and she knew it. "I can't even wrap my head around you sometimes, let alone my... legs."

"Merlin, Hermione - you should really learn not to talk like that." She could hear his grin.

"Oh, shut it," she said, squirming on the blanket so their backs were no longer touching. The charmer in him was coming back, and she really didn't want a repeat of earlier to further confuse her thoughts.

* * *

Towns became less and less sparse as they traveled further south, so they were not able to apparate hundreds of miles at a time as they were before. They were formally in Sweden before long, passing the very occasional Swedish town as the landscape softened up a bit. Draco followed a road from a distance until they ended up in a town called Avika. They were in dire need of supplies; Hermione's skin was starting to fade to grey and their stomachs rumbled constantly.

"Here," he said, placing the sunglasses in Hermione's hands. "We're going into town to get some more food. How are your wounds doing?"

Hermione felt her chest. The scabs had begun to flake off, revealing pink, mending flesh. It still remained to be seen how bad her scars were turning out; when she passed her hand over the skin, it was slightly raised. "They're fine - nearly there."

He nodded, deciding that now was not a good time to lift her shirt to check them, and picked Loki from off the ground. Loki was now the most cumbersome of their cargo; it was easy to forget about such a docile, self-sufficient animal.

He handed Loki off to Hermione and began to search for an eatery. Unfortunately, it was not as easy a search as he had hoped; most of the eateries were crowded with muggles. _That_ was a confrontation he really wanted to skip; they both looked like they had been in the woods for days and he did not want to advertise this fact.

After almost two hours of searching, Hermione became restless, and her usual defense mechanism - latch onto his arm and ask questions - surfaced quickly. "Didn't Sasha give us some muggle money? Surely you've seen something by now."

"Yes, but we look a right mess - people are already staring."

"Well, lets clean off our clothes then."

Draco rolled his eyes and walked Hermione behind a store, setting the bag against a dumpster. Using his wand, he tried to suck the dirt off of Hermione's clothes, and then his own. It was not likely that the could take full showers here, though they needed some; they had run into quite a few water spots during their week in Sweden but hadn't found anything substantial enough to soak in.

"All better," he mumbled, pocketing his wand. "If we eat somewhere muggle then you're going to have to take care of the money bit."

"Wait..." Hermione said suddenly. "We were given euros."

"... Okay, so what's your point?"

"I... I don't know if we can use it in Sweden. I never have."

"... You mean the muggle money?"

She nodded.

This was another thing that made wizards superior to muggles - they had figured out that _one_ currency was necessary to make transactions simpler.

"I mean, Sweden is part of the EU, but... they use something else here. Krona."

Draco shook his head, pushing down all the questions that had just surfaced in his mind. "You worry too much. If we can't pay then we'll use a Confundus Charm."

Hermione grimaced and allowed herself to be led out of the alley. Draco, besides not being able to read many of the signs, was worried about attracting too much attention, so the task was to find somewhere they could go unnoticed. He eventually found an eatery a ways down the street that looked popular and big enough to take international customers but slow enough to not attract any unwanted attention. Draco pushed the door open and led them inside.

"Can we pay with this?" Draco asked, and held up the muggle notes.

The hostess, who had brilliant auburn hair and a happy-go-lucky demeanor, faltered. "_Jog förstår inte..._"

"English tourists? _Ursäkta mig_, Erika. Follow me." A tall, thin waitress ushered them past the confused girl and to a table.

"My name is Kajsa - it is a pleasure to meet you. Would you like me to get a basket for the cat?" It seemed that she spoke nearly perfect English, save for the noticeable gaps between syllables and words that should not be spaced apart.

Draco looked over at Loki, who was eying the silverware on the table with interest. "Um... actually, she's very obedient. But if it is required, then yes."

"Very well. I will ask the manager if we take euros; if you need any other assistance, let me know."

Draco nodded and turned to Hermione. The sunglasses that had once fit her face rather well were now sliding down her nose a bit - it seemed like she was thinning out from the lack of non-magical food, all the walking, and the stress of running from dark wizards.

"Alight, Hermione. You've been avoiding me all week."

Hermione turned her head away and set Loki next to her in the booth. "No I haven't."

"Yes, you have."

"It's kind of hard to avoid someone you're with every second of every day."

Draco shook his head. "If you believe that, then you're not nearly as smart as I thought."

There was silence as Draco looked at the pictures in the menu. Swedish eateries were new to him, let alone muggle ones; the only hope he had to take his mind off of Hermione and try to figure out what to get was to pick out the prettiest looking dish and stick with that.

_:I'm not trying to avoid you,:_ Hermione began, her thoughts clouding his brain like smoke. :_It's so hard to feel comfortable around someone you... want so much.:_

Draco had a hard time repressing his thoughts after such a comment; for a moment, they rang loud and clear in his head, displayed as a bright, neon indicator of his emotions. Hermione's sincere aura tinged with green hope and a little pink embarrassment.

Draco calmly pushed her out of his head and opened his eyes.

"Draco?" she asked quietly, her voice quivering. It was the same voice he'd felt in his head.

"It almost hurts," he responded, the foreign words in forest green print in front of his vision fading. He set down the menu. "When something I've wanted happens, it's almost painful. I'm trying to cope with it."

"It shouldn't be painful... it should make you happy." She paused. "But you feel sad first. You don't know if it is real yet."

Draco nodded. Once again, she understood perfectly. "Because I have only ever tortured myself about it. So when it finally happens... I am skeptical. I... this is just what I do."

Hermione nodded, closing her black eyes. :_I'm sorry about avoiding you.:_

_:I know.:_

He missed this - feeling that green sunshine that was her mind. He could wrap himself in it no matter how he was feeling.

The only problem... was that he was still being safe.

He knew this - there were times when he was feeling impulsive enough to "just go for it" - just go for it and make the decision that led to what he wanted on the surface. _Make me light and happy in this moment, and fuck the consequences._ But most of the time, he felt like he had to test the waters. A million _what if_s constantly harassed him, making him want to backpedal and distance himself - even just run away.

But he'd chosen this - he'd chosen her over numerous other optimal choices, because he knew that in the end, he would regret wasting the opportunity just to _know_. He would regret not having her around.

He'd regret the drowning feeling.

Who'd want this? Fools wanted this, and he liked to think that while he wasn't the sharpest licorice snap, he wasn't a fool. But... if he had to drown, which is what he was doing - he'd drown any day in that green sunshine.

Draco started when he realized that the connection was still open. He was too surprised to be angry - plus Hermione's mental grin could have blinded a basilisk.

_:Our feelings are completely matched, aren't they?:_ she boldly asked.

_:Yes.:_

"... Have you decided what you'll be having to drink?"

Draco came back to reality to discover a slightly intimidated Kajsa standing in front of their booth with a small leather notepad. She had probably been standing there for a bit, not wanting to cut through the thick air surrounding them.

"Hermione, what would you like to drink?" he asked the woman sitting across from him, more to get her attention than to be polite.

"Oh... um, lemonade if you have it."

"Yes. And for you, sir?"

"I'll have pumpkin juice."

Hermione tensed up across from him. "Actually... lemonade as well."

"Okay. I spoke to the manager, and he is not willing to except the euros - but I have made my own arrangements for you. I hope this is okay." She was wearing a sad smile now, along with that kindly look that Sasha Worthington had always seemed to have when she ask him how he was doing.

"Thank you," Draco said, making eye contact.

When Kajsa left to retrieve the drinks, it hit him.

_She cares. They care - the lot of them._

These muggles they kept running into were actually just good people!

There was no chance of the discussion starting again after having been interrupted at such a sensitive point, so Draco resigned himself to watching Hermione stroke Loki absently. No doubt the subject would be broached later, most likely sometime after darkness had fallen over the sky. It was in that silence, his brain muddled by fatigue from the days activities, that he could speak without reserve.

* * *

"Holy fucking shit."

"Ron, this isn't a common room in Gryffindor Tower. Mind your mouth."

It was a rare thing to have Harry Potter scold anyone for use of foul language (given his history of glamorous bouts of irrational anger) but Ron was too out of it to notice. "I know... just... holy fucking shit." Admittedly the footage - from Harry's own memory - of the day they battled with the Death Eaters in the Worthington's living room was very... undeniable, and the icing on the cake to all the other evidence.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and put his wand back in his pants. He turned to the others around them. "Do you all agree that this evidence proves our theory?"

Kingsley nodded, watching the memories in the pensieve glitter. "It looks pretty real to me."

Harry glanced at Ron - he really did look like a fish with his mouth open like that - and kicked him under the table. Now was not the time for his friend to start breaking apart again.

"I have a different theory," said the woman across from Harry. She stood up to address the table.

"If you all remember, a few things were stolen from the Department of Mysteries a month ago. Spellbooks were taken from the Hall of Growth, as well as an uncharted prophecy from the Hall of Prophecy." The group nodded. "What if this ploy to capture Hermione Granger - a muggleborn girl who besides her knowledge of internal affairs in the Department of International Magical Cooperation - which many other capable wizards have - does not stand out as a target - "

"You forget, Matilda, that one, Hermione Granger is a very close friend of Harry Potter, and two, what it means for her to be a muggleborn - which you have already stated."

"That is not the point, Nora - the point is that this _ploy_ - this supposed mission to capture her could actually be _put in place _to distract us from the real issue. And that is: what on _earth_ could the Death Eaters want with a prophecy and research material from the Hall of Growth? I think we should be focusing on that instead of the dynamics between a fugitive and a kidnapped muggleborn."

Ron's face began to redden.

"It could be linked," a man put forth. He stood up. "Think about it. If the prophecy was uncharted, it could be about anyone and anything. And the spellbooks that were taken were specific to research about the origin of the magical gene in the human race. Perhaps - if they are still the prejudiced bunch they are known to be - "

" - Prejudice isn't a sin, Marty."

"Think that if you want to. My work in the Department of Mysteries is far too valuable to be in the hands of... racist pricks who'll misinterpret everything and use it to fuel whatever dark dreams they have!"

"Alright, that's enough," Nora said fiercely. "This meeting was not called to address theories on what the Death Eaters are up to. Most of you were brought here _specifically_ for your connections within the Wizengamot - yes, I said it. No good deeds go unpunished but _some_ good deeds deserve the softer side of the whip." She stood up. "Now, does everyone agree that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are indeed working together and that Hermione Granger is _not_ being held against her will?"

Harry looked around the table - there were a few reluctant nods.

"This is more serious than you think. If and when the Death Eaters go down, it is important to let the entire magical community know that it is a _good thing_ to come forward with information, and a _good thing_ to trust the Ministry's guidance. This way we prevent more rogue bludgers like Malfoy and others I could mention." Nora gave Harry a look. His days running from both the Ministry and the Death Eaters were not forgotten. "Draco Malfoy will be made an example of - so that it will be easier to round up the remaining support for the Death Eaters. You all understand politics. This is the way things work."

She turned her attention to the man sitting on her left. "As you know, we've placed a mole in the Death Eaters - you know him as the elusive 'Thomas'. He is slowly infiltrating the core of their operations and providing us with information on this big plan they are conjuring. Based on this, you know that finding out _what_ they are up to is our highest priority. So Jules, I will need your help in giving everything - including this thing between Malfoy and Hermione Granger - the proper amount of news coverage in _The Prophet_. No details of course - just the story."

Jules fidgeted under her gaze. "I'll see what I can do. The public is fickle - they ignore what they grow tired of reading."

Nora faced the room again. "The Department of Magical Defense is counting on your support and cooperation. Don't let us down."

After everyone had dispersed silently, Harry sidestepped his chair and approached Nora.

"You scared the hell out of everyone."

She shrugged. "Sometimes you just need things to be done a certain way... and fear is a good motivator. Oh... and Ron, I'm sorry we didn't show this to you earlier. You do know your part in this, right? Harry told you."

Ron nodded tiredly. His dull eyes and skin reflected his state of mind. "I have to play nicely and help Harry."

Nora smiled. "As much as you can. Just... try not to dwell on the personal side of this. This is bigger."

"It doesn't feel bigger," he muttered.

"It will..." she replied, gathering up her notes. "Very soon, I fear."

* * *

_Author's note:_ Sorry for the wait... the song for this chapter is "Panda" by Mew.


	25. The Danger In Starting A Fire

_"__Do not wait for life. Do not long for it. Be aware, always and at every moment, that the miracle is in the here and now." ~Marcel Proust_

**Chapter Twenty-five: The Danger In Starting A Fire**

Draco watched Hermione as she finished off her lemonade, noting the small slurp that sounded as she sucked a bit of air through the straw. She moved the drink away slowly, trying to hide her pink cheeks at the unladylike sound. He smiled a bit.

"How was everything?" he asked.

Hermione folded her arms, shaking away her embarrassment. "You've spent too much time around muggles."

Draco nodded and looked down at his fingers. "I have."

"Everything was good. Thank you for asking." Hermione tentatively removed her hands from the table, wary of various sharp and or breakable objects that she could send spinning off of it. There was a noticeable change in Draco - in his manners, his emotions... his entire person.

And yet... he was exactly the same being, exactly the same entity that had taken on such a sad and sober tone on so many occasions, reflecting his suffering.

She had, while they were in school, always thought that he was extremely one dimensional. Now she knew that he was so much more complicated than that.

"You're a bad influence on me," he said, looking at her intently.

She shrugged. "I probably am. You used to be a mean, egotistical, ignorant prick."

It was amazing that she could say things like this to him and he would be completely unaffected. "I still am mean, egotistical, and ignorant. Just maybe less of a prick." He paused. "Hermione, I need you to not trust this."

There was silence save for the sounds of clanking dishes and other happy customers... the world paying them no mind. Hermione leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

He shook his head. "We are matched - not only is it... some kind of chemistry..." he trailed off nervously, a twinge of doubt in his mind keeping him from speaking this with the boldness he wanted to. "It is also psychology. I need you to be prepared for the fact that... I'm going to disappoint you. I'm going to hurt you."

Hermione shook her head, wishing he would stop - even he should know that this was not the typical "good girl falls for the bad boy" scenario. "I thought none of that had to matter."

He stopped, looking at her saddening face. _You are screwing it up. Just stop talking._ "You're right. But please... just keep that in mind. I tend to sabotage good things in my life."

"Thank you for coming... here is your change. And good luck on your journey." Kajsa smiled at them and turned to wait another table.

"Actually, Kajsa... we need another favor." Hermione paused. Kajsa usage of the word "journey" instead of "holiday" was interesting. It could be chalked up to speaking English as a second language, or perhaps the girl had meant what she had said.

_:You will not sabotage this, whatever this is. I won't let you.:_ Hermione detached herself from her body and rubbed her mind against his.

* * *

_Nora,_

_I have a theory on what the Death Eaters are up to. Perhaps the movement within the Ministry to root out persecution of and discrimination against muggleborns is not working as well as we thought._

_What time can we meet?_

_Harry_

* * *

Karlstad, she had said. There was an airport in Karlstad, one large enough for them to be fairly unnoticed. The flight would cost quite a bit of money - thousands of euros, especially on such short notice - and it would not even be a direct one. They'd have to stop a few times.

"Hang on a second... I'll look up flights from Karlstad." Kajsa went behind the counter to use the computer.

"Let me see the map of the world again." He took the map from Hermione and opened it to the western side of the United States and Canada.

Draco pointed to a black dot whispered to Hermione, "Anchorage. That is where I took the portkey to escape. Anchorage... Alaska."

"Alaska?"

"Yes. There is no way No Name would know that, though. It was an unregistered portkey, and Ministry offices there are a little less strict about those types of things, understandably."

Hermione thought for a second, and then nodded. "Okay. Our destination is Anchorage, Alaska."

Kajsa stared at the screen. "You've got quite a few options. Any preferences?"

"Anything that does not stop in England." _I'm not taking any chances._

After a few minutes of searching, Kajsa smiled. "I've found one from Karlstad to Copenhagen... change airplanes to get to Frankfurt. Change again to reach a city in the United States called Chicago. Then take another plane to Anchorage, Alaska. Anchorage International."

" ...We are going to get so effing lost."

Hermione shook her head and smiled behind her sunglasses. "You underestimate the system. We'll only have to go through security once, maybe twice - and airports are not nearly as confusing as they sound."

Draco shook his head and turned to Kajsa. "Okay, then that's fine. I'm going to really need you on this one, Hermione."

He trusted her. He trusted her judgement, her knowledge, and even her ability to guide them. Hermione bit down her smile. "Thank you, Kajsa. So what time does this flight leave?"

* * *

"Something has changed," Master muttered, setting down her glass and gazing directly at Rubinoff.

Rubinoff averted his eyes, knowing that if he did not do this his face was likely to melt off. "Nothing has changed, Master. They are still eluding capture."

"That's not what I meant."

Rubinoff's heart jolted, and a chill washed over him.

"You seem different, is all. This mission is taking a toll on you, and I was too wrapped up in my own selfish wants to see it. I apologize."

She was turning him about, as she often did; this roller-coaster of emotions she displayed toward him confused him. He felt fatigue grip him as her expression became concerned.

He stiffened as Master No Name rose fluidly from her armchair. "I'm going to tell you something that I've never told anyone, and I want you to listen."

She strode over to him, and Rubinoff could not help but let panic slip from behind his mental barrier. She let an actual smile into his mind, in an attempt to calm him; instead it made him even more uneasy.

She stopped in front of him and studied his features individually, moving her eyes over his whole face before coming to a stop on his eyes.

"I'm going to fail, Jon."

Rubinoff shook his head slowly, the panic he had felt earlier turning into an extreme aversion to this statement. A little of the love he felt for his master bubbled to the surface of his mind.

"I'm overconfident. I'm mean. And our little group, famous though it is, still lacks the real skills to back up such a terrifying reputation. I've trained you well... most of you haven't studied this much since your days at Hogwarts. But it is not enough."

"I don't understand, Master..."

"Evil always loses, Jon. That is why I am not evil, why I have been trying to detach the Death Eaters from evil. But still the 'light' side fights against as if we are its opposite, when in reality we just have different means of accomplishing the same goal."

Rubinoff looked down, allowing himself to breathe a little. "What is this goal?"

No Name stopped, momentarily irked that the answer to this question wasn't blatantly obvious. She then let it go with a shake of her head. "Discrimination. Both sides want to root it out, essentially."

There was silence as Rubinoff tried desperately to find the truth in her statement.

"I hate mudbloods. I hate that they are given this gift, and can even use it better than real wizards. And yet, I hate that I hate them, because if I were to be completely honest... I am jealous that I can't appreciate it like they can. I hate muggles... but I just hate them because they aren't like us. All this hate is stupid."

"I... still don't understand how we are striving to eliminate discrimination. We all hate muggleborns."

No Name turned away from him and paced to a painting on the far wall. "Discrimination is a disease that takes up useless emotions, time, effort, and for that matter, brain activity. And the only way to eliminate discrimination... is to make everyone the same."

And just like that, it clicked. The crates that they had been getting, filled with rare potion ingredients... the search for a high profile mudblood like Hermione Granger... the construction of the machine... he had known that his master had nearly succeeded in isolating the magical "gene," that small pebble that diverted to river to either magical or muggle, but he hadn't exactly been told why. Of course, such a thing probably had hundreds of useful applications, but the obvious one hadn't even occurred to him.

He saw the vision now. He saw endless queues of muggles and squibs, changing themselves so that their children may be given the gift of magic. He saw the publicity of it all, how Hermione Granger had been used in a grand experiment and how she would "see" how big everything really is... and would use her pull with Harry Potter and the Ministry to get the ball rolling with a little help of the Imperious Curse and blackmail threats. And then this thing would explode.

And in the process... they would still destroy the Ministry, the corrupt government that everybody had forgotten was the real cause of separation. They would still have the means to break Harry Potter when the rug is suddenly pulled from under him. And then, maybe muggles and wizards could live together peacefully once again, without the pure distinctions between light and dark.

"Because people are grey. They are not black or white."

Master nodded. "You see how big this could be. You see how much this could change everyone, change the world, change history. You see how much this could do." She paused. "But I will fail."

"How? Why?"

She looked back at him. "All of this depends on the will of one muggleborn girl. And if she's as fiery as I've heard..." There was silence, and then she exploded. "SHIT!"

Rubinoff jumped, wondering what had happened.

"We've been doing this all wrong, haven't we? Fuck."

He involuntarily began to panic again. "This was perfect from the beginning, Master."

She glared playfully at him, though her eyes were still frozen as though she was serious. "You are so doughfaced, Jon! I need you to be serious and tell me what I _don't_ want to hear."

He knew he was on the verge of tears at this point; she was impossible to read, even when she was being open like this. "... Oh."

"It's okay. Nevermind. Do you have something to report?"

Jon Rubinoff shook his head to clear it and put up some semblance of a mask once again. "I think we've got a rat in our outfit."

Master nodded slowly. "Interesting theory. Proof?"

"Just suspicion mostly, backed up with a little 'soft' evidence."

She shrugged. "Find out for sure."

He nodded and walked out of the room into the dark hallway.

* * *

Hermione clutched Loki to her chest as she and Draco followed a highway. The information that Kajsa had given them was tucked in a pocket of the duffel bag, and they had three days to get to that airport.

Hermione reached up and felt the hair grips that Kajsa had given her to tame her hair. Usually Hermione didn't use them (because their small, wiry nature made them prime targets to be consumed by her hair) but since she hadn't given her hair a decent brushing since they were in Bergen and it had pretty much stayed in a french braid since then, she didn't really have a choice. Civilization required that flyaways be pinned down, especially when her clothes already looked the way they did.

Loki fidgeted a little, so Hermione had to go back to holding her with two hands.

"I don't know how the cat is going to come with us," Draco murmured, looking at the passing cars to their right. He moved them a little further away from the road so they could apparate.

The grassy areas became more numerous as they proceeded east; roads were visible now and again as Draco kept them somewhat hidden by distance and trees. Apparition went fairly smoothly; it seemed as though they were no longer in danger of being found by Death Eaters.

This made Hermione nervous, since Draco was a little bit less careful now and she could tell. She brushed these feelings aside however when she reminded herself that they would soon be across the world.

Abruptly Draco stopped and dropped the bag to the ground.

Hermione stopped as well. "Draco?"

He turned around and cupped her face briefly before kissing her.

Hermione stepped back away from him, turning her head away.

Draco's face fell. He had been hoping that the "sneak attack" would make it less awkward. "What's wrong?"

Hermione mumbled something incoherent.

"... What was that?"

"I said... Idon'tknowhowtosnog."

"You... don't know how to snog?"

"_Yes_."

"Alright, don't get mad... that's fine. Although you were doing fine the other day."

"I must have been in the mood then."

Draco shook his head. "If you're embarrassed... I mean, there's no one out here - "

"It's not that! It just - it has to be perfect, you know? Maybe I'm just overthinking it."

Draco shrugged. "I haven't snogged that many girls, Hermione, and I'm still pretty confident about it."

"Well... you're you. I'm me."

No - he was not about to let her get herself down about anything physical; he was not going to allow her to blame herself or depress herself over something like sexual confidence. "You have the prettiest lips I've ever seen, Hermione." He stepped closer to her.

She was starting to blush - he could see it through the fingers covering her face. He smirked.

"Your skin is so creamy..."

Yes, she was definitely blushing now. "I'm not fishing for compliments..."

Draco's smirk turned into an actual smile. Even though he knew his words were already making her blush, he knew just the thing that could make her absolutely melt... he stood directly in front of her, and detached his mind from his body to reach out to hers. "'My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun...'"

"Shakespeare," she breathed, her hands leaving her face to cover her mouth and her blush reddening. How many times had she dreamed of having a Shakespearean sonnet recited to her in such a way?

"'Coral is far more red than her lips red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; if hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head...'"

Draco began to whisper, bringing his face close to her ear. The smell of her hair nearly sent him crashing back to reality. "I love to hear her speak, yet well I know...'"

"You skipped the second bit..." she murmured, obviously not caring.

"...'that music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go... my mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground. And yet' - " he took her face in his hands, " - 'by Heaven, I think my love as rare as any she belied with false' - "

Hermione kissed him clumsily, threading her fingers in his hair. Draco was immediately exhilarated; he held her close and clutched the small of her back.

When she released him, she smiled. "'Compare,'" she finished for him.

He grinned back, wishing she could see how happy she was making him. "I guess there's not much 'compare.'"

She shook her head. "Not even close."

"We'll have to work on that."

"Aye, we will."

* * *

I know its been a while - I'm sorry everyone. The next chapter will be better - I sat on this one too long. Updates will be quicker now that I'm out of midterms.

The song for this chapter is "Colder Than My Heart, If You Can Imagine" by A Day To Remember.


	26. Rubicon in the Distance

_"Decide that you want it more than you are afraid of it." ~ Bill Cosby_

**Chapter Twenty-six: Rubicon in the Distance**

Hermione was not keen on this plan at all. "Aren't we going to get caught?"

"No. I used to this all the time, even in wizard hotels."

As a pureblood with such a secure financial status, she wondered why he had ever wanted to do this. Of course, she didn't exactly know what pureblood teenagers did for fun. I guess it was a thrill of sorts. Her balance was off a little so she readjusted herself on the foreign bed. "But... we're squatting."

"We need proper showers and laundered clothes before we go to the muggle air-port or else we will stick out."

She couldn't argue with him there - to avoid attention in the hotel they'd had to use a cloaking spell. This hotel would send them away in a quick second if they'd walked in looking the way they had.

She wanted to look around desperately; she'd never stayed in a nice hotel in her life, wizard or muggle. She felt the bedspread beside her - the duvet was soft and plushy. She lied back slowly as Loki jumped onto the bed and padded over to her slowly. Draco exited the steaming bathroom after his shower to discover Hermione curled up with Loki. He stopped and ran a hand through his damp hair, briefly noting that it desperately needed a cut, and studied her face.

Did she look at all like the Hermione Granger he remembered?

He had an urge to conjure his past feelings of contempt for her, but he could not remember why it was he had hated her so much.

_She was smart and bookish... a swotty little teacher's pet. But... there's really nothing wrong with being smart. Being smart is the best thing you can be._

The whole scene - Hermione in the only dress the Worthingtons had packed for her (also the last semi-clean garment she had), her sunglasses discarded next to her and Loki curled against her chest, sunlight streaming through the window... Draco realized that there was nothing he'd rather be looking at.

He rubbed his bare chest with the towel to remove some rogue drops and dropped it on the carpet. This was the closest thing to a family he would ever get.

* * *

They awoke sometime later, Draco's chest pressed against Hermione's back and Loki still in Hermione's arms. Hermione received a jolt of paranoia when she realized how badly she needed the shower she was supposed to take after him. She moved her head slightly to smell herself.

"I smell," she said quietly, and made to get up. "And my hair is in your face..."

"Don't move," Draco whispered against her back, scooting her closer. "You smell fine."

She laid her head back down and scooted her shoulders back until his face was in her neck. "I do smell."

"You smell like the forest. I don't care right now." His arm tightened around her waist, forcing her legs and bum to fit against him as well.

Hermione murmured something and relaxed. She did not want to move either. This felt too amazing.

Sleep was something elusive now - it was almost as if the situation was too comfortable for sleep. It had been a while since either of them had been in a bed this nice, with time to kill. They still had 24 hours before they had to be on that plane.

Draco had one thought on his mind - experimentation.

He breathed in and shifted so his arm was resting on Hermione's leg, near the edge of her dress. She knew what he was going to do almost immediately and found herself panicking as his fingers slipped under the fabric and began to pull it up. Did she have clean knickers on? She couldn't remember - clean clothes were so hard to keep track of when you were blind and running through Swedish terrain.

She would have to lift herself up a bit if he was to get the dress above her hips. She hesitated when he reached this point, but slowly lifted herself up so he could lift it up to her stomach.

Draco stopped then, releasing the fabric and cupping her bare stomach and slowly pulling her even closer. She realized then that he was shirtless, and it made her panic even more.

"Calm down, Hermione."

"I'm fine."

They settled, Draco drawing small circles in her stomach, working his way up closer to her chest, and down, to the edge of her underwear. He noted her intake of breath whenever he went higher or lower than the last time.

"Calm down, Hermione."

"_I'm fine._"

"Alright then," he said, and abruptly pulled her away from Loki and on top of him.

She struggled for balance for a few moments before both legs found there way on either side of him and and she shakily centered her chest over his.

"Erm..."

"Just go with it. Sit up."

Hermione shook her head, now embarrassed by the situation. Rubbing their minds together seemed infinitely easier all of a sudden.

His hands grabbed her hips to brace her, but she wasn't moving.

"Hey... Hermione?" Draco sat up, forcing her to go with him, until she was straddling his lap. "Hermione?"

"Right, yeah." There was a sarcastic note in her mumbled reply.

Draco stroked her hips on either side in an attempt to calm her, but since her dress seemed to come with his hands, it only succeeded in hiking the thing up more and adding to her embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, shaking her head. "I'm not used to doing this with people. Things like this don't happen to me."

"I know," he said back, moving on to rubbing her back. "It's not too much, is it?"

"... I don't know." It was a little much, but she recognized that if she was going to be doing anything more than this with him in the future, she would have to start "just going with it." "No, its fine."

Draco lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. Had she not been blind, she would probably be staring directly at him now. With her face so close, her eyes looked huge, but they did not look as empty as they had when they were still in England. He could see the emotion there now.

His mind detached itself from his body and rubbed against hers.

This was more what she recognized - this feeling of being completely open to him. In this situation however, having her mind an open book did not really appeal to her.

_:Stop thinking so much._:

"I just want things to be perfect."

"Nothing is ever perfect. We are flawed people, Hermione."

"... Yes, I know. It's still hard though."

Draco shrugged. "Just let yourself go. This is not something you have to think about. You don't have to worry about doing anything that will push me away - there is no possibility of that anymore."

She blushed at this admission and nodded, and Draco released her chin so he could pull her into a kiss.

After a second Hermione pulled away, as she usually did.

"Thinking too much," Draco whispered. "If you think about it then it's completely buggered. Don't panic - just mimic what I'm doing."

"Yeah. Mmkay." She was being sarcastic again. Apparently she had been trying to convince herself more than he was trying to convince her.

_:Love yourself. That is how you overcome this.:_

_:It's easy to say that.:_ Accomplishing this had always been Hermione's goal; she was a firm believer that loving herself was the only way she could truly be happy, though she pretended that succeeding in everything else would do the same.

"I thought you hated yourself."

Draco lied back down and put his hands behind his head. He enjoyed the view of Hermione straddling his lap for a moment before he answered. "That's different."

"It's the same."

"There are things about myself that I hate... and at times there is not a single thing that I like about myself. But I can always go back to the way I was before, where I can be content with certain things and be numb to the rest of them. Accomplish this... and you are halfway there. I'm halfway there."

Hermione lied back on top of him and fit her head under his chin. He spoke of this so lightly even though both of them knew better. In reality, things were so much more complicated. "It really feels like that, doesn't it? Like it did that time? I don't know if I could handle that."

Draco tried not to think of the dark, thick tar that had covered her mind and soul in that white bedroom. "That's just me, Hermione."

"No," she countered, scooting up a bit. "I'm not made of sunshine. I feel it too."

He hugged her against him. He had forgotten how alike they really were, though they seemed so different. It was as if they occupied both extremes - being nothing at all alike and yet being exactly the same.

* * *

"I think we have something here."

"Understandable, of course," Nora replied, eying him. "You think this could be it?"

"It all makes sense. Think about it - they stole research about magical versus non-magical folk and a prophecy. Marty said that in order to do research on this, they need muggleborns to experiment on. Isn't it a coincidence that the Death Eater controlled Ministry wanted to round up muggleborns more than anything, and some of these people are still declared 'missing'? And the investigation was discontinued only days before Hermione was presumed missing."

"Oh my god..." Nora mumbled, her usual calm exterior faltering. "Are you serious? You think they want to experiment on her?"

Harry nodded.

Nora shook her head and scooted closer, lowering her voice. "Did you read about the techniques used to experiment with muggleborns?"

"No. I just know that their memories are erased afterwards... and that some never know what happened."

"They use the most terrible procedures - withdrawing buckets of blood at a time; performing magic on the nerves; sifting through memories where pure magic was emitted by accident. And... then there is the machine."

"The machine?"

"Yes. While muggles perform blood transfusions and organ transplants in a seemingly non-invasive way - in their eyes... the magical interpretations of this are a lot more painful. I'll just say that this procedure is not made for the subject to live through. I've seen the photos. I've seen the bodies."

Harry cringed. The situation just became a lot more serious. "But why not use any muggleborn off the street? Why Hermione?"

"I think you know the answer to that one." She ran a hand through her hair. "When you think about it... she's the highest class muggleborn in our world. She's somewhat of an idol for the rest. There are so many ways in which the Death Eaters would win if they were to use her."

"No." Harry took another sip of his tea, finishing it off, and set it down. "This cannot be happening."

There was a knock on the door, and the tall form of Jesse stepped in. "The team has arrived in Cambodia."

Nora and Harry looked over at her, both noticeably trying to recover from the conversation they had just had. Jesse's face fell even more. "What has happened?"

Harry looked over at Nora, silently asking permission to tell Jesse what they were thinking. She shook her head.

"Just discussing some theories. Are all the rest of the ingredients ready for the cure?"

Jesse looked at her feet. "The last of them will be here by the end of tomorrow. And according to the information Marty retrieved from the NASROP archives, the potion needs a week to brew. It should be finished about the same time as the Auror training finishes."

"Sounds good. It's about time we started making progress." She stood from her seat and collected her and Harry's cups. "We can't let Draco and Hermione have all the fun, can we?"

* * *

By the time they realized that they had things to do, the sun was setting. Hermione was the first to leave the bed, adjusting her dress and feeling her way through the darkness until she reached the door to the bathroom. Draco followed, walking into the bathroom ahead of her to turn on the water and set a towel for her. It seemed that since she still needed to shower, he should probably take care of the laundry.

Draco wrinkled his nose a bit against his will - the only time he'd ever had to do laundry was when he'd had to hand wash the drapes on Hogwarts' fifth floor in detention. How did he even go about doing this?

"Um, Hermione?" he asked as she slipped the straps of her dress off of her shoulders.

She jumped of course, forgetting that he was still in the bathroom. She turned in the direction of his voice. "Yes?"

"... How do you do laundry? I don't know any spells for it."

Hermione cracked a smile. "You spoiled man. Don't worry about it - I'll take care of it when I'm done. I don't want you putting holes in anything."

Draco smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

She nodded and waited for the sounds of his feet leaving the tiled floor before she unzipped the back of her dress and slid it to the floor.

Later, Draco and Hermione left the room for dinner, Hermione donning the now clean dress once again. Draco spoke a few charms as he walked out of the hotel doors - a Confundus charm and a few others that Hermione had never heard - and they proceeded down the street.

"Since there is an airport in this city, there is bound to be English-friendly restaurants."

Hermione shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I've never been here before."

Before long, they found a restaurant with a menu in English and sat down at a table.

"Lucky, lucky lucky. All this time in public can't be good."

"We don't really have a choice. After this, we need to stop by the grocery and get some more food and supplies for the trip."

"Do you still have the flight information?"

"It's in the duffel. Moving through the airport should be easy enough - as will getting around the muggle security."

Hermione shook her head. "It won't be as easy as you think. Cloaking spells only help us stay unseen - they don't help us with getting onto the plane. It is likely to be crowded. And furthermore, you are forgetting that you have to tote around a blind person as well - even with the cloaking spell, I am likely to bump into people."

"Not if I levitate you. I could levitate both of us."

"You know how difficult it is to levitate yourself."

Draco shrugged and moved away from the center of the table as the waiter brought them bread and drinks. "We will figure something out when the time comes I guess."

Though she knew that they needed to be talking about this kind of thing now, Hermione smiled a little anyway. "Of course. In the meantime, we can just enjoy dinner." Yes, in the meantime indeed. Come tomorrow, it was unlikely they would ever experience this again.

* * *

Song for this chapter is "Umibe" by L'Arc-en-ciel. New trailer for this coming soon - and it won't be anything you are used to.


	27. Imagine Violet Skies

_"A phrase began to beat in my ears with a sort of heady excitement: 'There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired.'" ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, __The Great Gatsby_**  
**

**Chapter Twenty-seven: Imagine Violet Skies**

They found that the hardest part of getting on their airplane had nothing to do with Draco not being able to find the right place, or getting past security.

The hardest part became getting _to_ the airport.

The roads were not exactly pedestrian friendly; the cars were moving too fast and there was really not enough space to walk. Loki quivered in her full body bind after a close brush with a car left her squirming.

Once inside however, things became more simple.

It must have been an off day for travel since the airport did not seem all that busy. With Hermione's instructions ringing in his head, Draco looked for all the right signs - _follow the crowd_, she had said. _If you see a lot of people waiting in line to go to another part of the airport, it is probably the security check._ He found it - a line of people going through tall, gray doorways, stripping off their shoes and coats and grabbing gray, plastic trays. Draco raised his eyebrows.

How did taking off one's shoes help with security?

_They need to make sure you aren't trying to smuggle anything in them._

The lack of people worked both in his favor and against him - if there had been a lot of people, he could have probably remained visible and slipped past everything with the help of a Confundus Charm, but since there hadn't, he'd had to become invisible and try to sneak around everything.

He found an empty lane and walked them through the gate, sidestepping the guard, who looked confusedly at the lights appearing at the top of the doorway.

When he was a safe distance away, next to the wall, he stopped to regain some composure.

_There's no telling what could happen if we got caught at security, especially doing magic._

Draco understood how much shit they would be in if they were to get caught - not only would they risk the exposure of the magical world, but they'd go from muggle jail to a wizard court. And he would be thrown in Azkaban, with a shitload of angry ex Death Eaters waiting to tear him to pieces.

"I'm telling you - ghosts pass through here all the time!" the guard was saying to his coworker, who rolled his eyes and continued stacking grey trays.

* * *

Ron set his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ on the table. The moving picture on the front was all he had to look at to know the contents of the article.

**_THE SEARCH CONTINUES_**

_The search for Hermione Jean Granger, muggleborn war hero, reaches top priority once again as the Ministry of Magic uncovers more information about her kidnapping. Intelligence has led search teams east, where Hermione Granger was said to be spotted in the Polish town of Konin by several streetwalkers yesterday evening..._

Great. The _Prophet_ had resorted to printing lies. And here he had thought that the Ministry was _making_ progress.

There was a knock at the door.

The only person who would knock on his door this early was Harry or Nora. And if it was Nora, it was likely to be very important.

Ron got up and opened the door, not even glancing at who walked in before he turned around and went to sit back at his small table.

"Wow, Ronald. You are worse off than everyone says."

He whipped around to face the familiar voice.

Luna Lovegood hung her bag and cloak on one of the coat hooks next to the door. "It's funny how people just stop talking to each other once they have left school. For example, I haven't spoken to Ginny since the death of the Dark Lord. Can you imagine that?" She tuned to face him.

Ron shook his head, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that his place was a mess and he needed a shower. He hadn't expected to have any visitors, and he didn't have to work today.

"... I thought I'd bring you something to cheer you up..."

Ron nodded, letting her hand him a small package.

They stood in silence for a few seconds; Luna had obviously been intending to stay for a bit, considering that she had hung her cloak and bag up, but Ron did not look to be in the mood to have visitors.

"I... I guess I'll be going then," she said, masking a hurt expression as she collected her things.

_Why am I shutting everyone out?_

"Wait," he mumbled, setting the package on the table. "You don't have to leave."

He had been shutting people out - he'd been shutting out his family, Harry, and the Order, all of whom wanted to help.

_Or do they? Maybe they just want me to cooperate. "Calm down, Ron." "It's okay, Ron." Like I'm a child. Like I can't control my anger or something._

_Like my feelings don't even matter._

He knew this was a stupid thing to think, but he knew that it was at least partly true. He hated the way everyone looked carefully at him whenever they mentioned the "relationship" between Hermione and Malfoy; he hated the lonely nights, spent without Harry and without his family, because Harry was working and his family was now too afraid to try to console him; he hated the way everyone spoke to him as if he was this _thing_, this animal who could only feel anger towards them.

Now, that wasn't to say that he wasn't angry with them, nor that he wouldn't feed Draco's smug head to a blast-ended skrewt any day. But he _did_ have a head on his shoulders. He wasn't all point-shoot-aim like they thought he was.

"I do need a proper bath though," he continued.

"It's okay," Luna said brightly, hanging her cloak back up. "I can wait. Maybe clean up a bit."

Ron nodded, noting that Luna instantly made the room a lot brighter. He could use a bit of sunshine right now.

* * *

There was something about airports that made Hermione feel distinctly muggleborn.

Perhaps it was the fact that she was surrounded by muggles going about their daily lives, not paying each other any sort of attention. Perhaps it was the fact that airports represented some very core differences between muggles and wizards.

Perhaps it was the grey carpet, the metal and plastic chairs, or the moving walkways. The overlaying of dull, dusty colors on top of each other, occasionally brightened by the richly colored logo of some airline people only flew for convenience.

She could not speak for this airport, but they tended to all be the same.

"Muggles are a drab lot, aren't they?" Draco whispered to her, looking around.

Hermione nodded. If muggles and wizards could coexist, they had quite a bit they could learn from each other.

Staying invisible, they waited until all the other passengers had boarded before they sidestepped the flight attendant at the gate and walked down the ramp.

"_Finite Incantatem._ Finally, we're here," he said, leading Hermione onto the plane.

He chose two seats in a completely empty row and looked around. If it was this easy to get onto a muggle plane, how was it that everyone else payed for their tickets like they were supposed to?

A flight attendant was coming towards them determinedly. He took his wand out discreetly.

Instead of saying something to him, she buckled his and Hermione's seatbelts and kept going.

Hermione smiled. "We're getting lucky, and you know it. She didn't even say anything about Loki."

Draco looked down at Hermione's arms. Loki was still invisible and in a full body bind. He cursed and released the body bind, realizing that the poor cat had been like that for almost two hours. She stretched her aching muscles and hopped onto the empty seat next to them, only appearing as a small indentation in the blue fabric.

"Stay there, Loki, otherwise we won't be able to find you... why is this thing so loud?" he asked.

Hermione grimaced and pushed her sunglasses up on her nose. "It's not even that loud yet. Just wait until we take off."

Draco shook his head. That did not sound promising.

* * *

Draco stared out of the small, oval shaped airplane window at the mass of water under them, wondering how any muggle could get used to this. After a close call with the airline staff and rubbing an invisible Loki against an unsuspecting muggle, not to mention the constant popping his ears were doing, Draco was thoroughly sick of the giant muggle contraptions.

And what was worse?

The fact that when they would finally land in Chicago, they'd have a three hour wait before they were on their way to Alaska.

The german couple in front of them shushed their three year old son for what seemed like the millionth time.

"I can't take much more of this," Draco whispered to Hermione. Besides being incredibly tired, the noise was giving him a massive headache. He looked over to discover her slumped in her seat.

How could she sleep through this racket? Draco waited until nearly everyone had exited the plane before he woke Hermione. She mumbled something and stood up, barely stopping before hitting the plastic buttons above her head.

"This is the last time I will ever do this. I can't believe how long that stupid flight was," Draco grumbled, shouldering the bag and rubbing his tired eyes. "A portkey would have had us there in two seconds."

"You're exaggerating."

"Well, it would not have us crammed into a seat for Merlin knows how long. And I'd have been shot of that noisy kid sitting in front of us." He looked around for the giant screens. "We've been traveling for nearly a full twenty-four hours, and I want some _sleep_."

"Yeah, well, we'll get some sleep once we are in Alaska."

Their muggle money was no good here, since Hermione did not want to put Draco through the process of changing their euros for American dollars, so in order to get food they would have to try something else. Draco looked critically at the vending machines in the corner. He was too tired to be dealing with muggle contraptions.

After discreetly stealing some junk food, he took Hermione into a telephone kiosk and and handed her a stolen bag.

"I'm not even going to ask," she said, opening a crinkling bag of snacks.

"You've learned," he said, opening his own bag. He kicked off his shoes pulled Hermione down next to him. He hoped that they would not be bothered in here; he really wanted to get some real sleep. He charmed the now empty snack bag to whistle in two hours.

Hermione stroked Loki absently, letting the cat head-butt her leg.

"Okay, I must ask. So why are you so good at stealing and squatting?"

Draco shrugged, putting his feet up on the small counter next to the phone book. "I occasionally nick things from muggles. They need to improve their security methods; they make it too easy."

"Yes, okay, but from a _vending_ machine? How did you go about doing that?"

"Stop it with the questions, Granger. _Wingardium leviosa_ works just fine when no one is looking."

She shrugged, getting comfortable. "I thought Malfoys were supposed to be above things like thievery."

A year ago, if she had said something like that he probably would have retorted with some defensive comment to defend his family name. Now, however, not only did he not care as much, but he was not afraid to say what he wanted about his family. "Malfoys find a way to be thieves without it being traditional thievery. We steal loads of things, from money to years of people's lives." He pulled her closer to him. "And then we slap a different label on it. It's more complicated than that naturally, but that's basically what happens."

"But you aren't that person anymore."

He shook his head and ran his free hand through his hair. "I'm still that person. I'll always be that person."

It was the type of talk his parents liked to lecture him with - all this talk about being a respectable person and knowing who he is. Talk about changing things about himself that he knew how to change... and just didn't. They had called him stubborn and insolent, as if he didn't want to change, didn't want to make them happy with him.

It was just... too hard to change. It took too much inner strength that he didn't have.

Many times they compared him with Harry Potter, saying that he needed to be doing what Potter was doing. Why aren't you Seeker for Slytherin like Potter is for his house? Why don't you score better than Potter in Transfiguration? Why is Potter always getting recognized for things that you aren't?

In reality, the one thing he actually admired about Potter, the one thing that he wishes he'd had... was Potter's resilience.

Everyone knew the story now - Potter was sent, as a baby, to live with his horrid muggle aunt and uncle and their pudgy son. And somehow, through that, he'd still managed to come out a normal person - no cruelty, no bitterness.

Draco had succumbed to his household; he became exactly what his father had _really_ wanted him to become - a beaten dog.

And he had woken up, looked around, and realized that he'd been asleep for his whole life. Once again, change was hard. He'd definitely not chosen the right battle to fight, in hindsight.

But if he'd had Potter resilience... he could have gotten through all of that. Snape's lessons on masking emotion would not have been needed, because he would not have been afraid of his emotions. He would not have needed to resort to cruelty in order to make himself feel better, just like his father did.

"Your dad was just a cruel man, Draco."

Ugh. He really needed to work on his emotional walls again.

"You know it's more complicated than that. It always is."

Hermione shook her head. "I'd be the first person to agree with you, but I've learned that sometimes things are actually quite simple."

Draco shrugged. "Let's not dwell on him - I want to sleep without nightmares before the next air-plane ride."

Hermione nodded, noting the quick change of subject and choosing not to fight it. Not everything could be talked out, as she had come to understand. Some things are better left alone.

* * *

Alaska was a beautiful place; from the small airplane window, Draco could see mountains stretching in every direction as white and grey points dotted with dark green and black; the sky was huge and low, as if the plane could touch it if it went any higher. Hermione would love to see this.

_:Hermione.:_

"Hmmm?" she snuggled closer to him.

"Take a look at this," he murmured, and filled her mind with what he was seeing.

Hermione sighed. It was quite something. "I wish I wasn't so blind."

"We'll get that cure soon enough. Don't worry. When everything is over, I promise I'll take you back here."

Hermione nodded sadly, knowing that it was very unlikely that this would ever happen, but indulging herself in the fantasy anyway. They were pretending that they had all the time in the world and that after everything was over, they could still be together, when the truth was that their time was running out every second.

Draco shifted in his seat so his shoulder wasn't digging into Hermione's head so much. He knew this as well - after everything ended, it was unlikely that they would be together like this, even if Draco didn't go to Azkaban. It... was too hard for everyone, and for them.

Once outside, Draco looked up. It must have been nightfall, and yet it was still light out. It was the one thing he found rather cool about this area - in the summer, it was daylight almost all the time. The cycle was breaking however; soon, days and nights would be in balance once again.

He apparated them downtown, to a street he had apparated to before, what seemed like ages ago. It was a small side street, with muggle construction crews not far away working on the roads.

"Where are we now?" Hermione asked, adjusting Loki in her arms.

"Downtown Anchorage. Compared to London this is a tiny little city," he said quietly, looking around. The transit center was a few blocks away, if he remembered correctly, sitting as a small building fronted with red lined windows and muggles waiting for their appropriate busses.

"So... how are we getting into Canada?"

"It's a long ride by muggle car, down a winding highway. A very scenic route to be sure... right through the mountains. We'll stop in Tok for a day to rest after we get going."

"How many times have you been here?"

Draco shrugged. She was asking a lot of questions again; she had no need to be nervous. He knew this area very well. "More times than I would like to remember... let's go."

* * *

Have a happy New Years everyone. The song for this chapter is "Miah's Liberty" by Orka Veer.


	28. Failure Is Not An Option

_"Making your mark on the world is hard. If it were easy, everybody would do it. But it's not. It takes patience, it takes commitment, and it comes with plenty of failure along the way. The real test is not whether you avoid this failure, because you won't. It's whether you let it harden or shame you into inaction, or whether you learn from it; whether you choose to persevere." ~ Barack Obama_

**Chapter Twenty-eight: Failure Is Not An Option**

Draco could drive.

And not only could he drive... he could drive an American car down a two lane road hundreds of feet above ground level.

And... he could drive a _stick!_

"Normally I would ask how you came to know how to drive a manual shift muggle car..."

"... But that would be pointless, wouldn't it? Face it, there are a lot of things you don't know about me, even now."

"It seems _especially_ now."

Loki nuzzled Draco's arm from the arm rest between him and Hermione. He gently elbowed her so she would go back to the backseat.

After taking the public bus system (which Draco was pissed to learn went directly to the airport he had apparated from) to a residential street, they had walked a bit before coming to a path lined with greenery... and what appeared to be an abandoned car waiting for them.

It seemed that Draco's initial escape had been more complicated than Hermione had expected, and it also seemed as if he wanted to do the exact reverse in order to go _back_ to the Death Eaters' stronghold. Draco had retrieved the key from behind the small gas tank door and sat Hermione inside.

"Alright then. Tell me something I don't know about you, and then I'll tell you something about me."

Hermione thought. This was something they should have done a while ago she realized - it was very unlike her to even be interested in someone without knowing the first thing about them. "Um... my favorite color is green. Spring green."

Draco raised an eyebrow. _The same color as your mind?_ "I know you can do better than that, Hermione."

His voice sounded a lot more mature at the moment, so she decided not to scoff. "Okay. Um... I'm slightly anemic."

"Okay." He tried not to cringe at the memory of the amount of blood she had lost when she had been impaled by the wood of an exploding tree. "I... don't have any cavities."

"Well, at least my parents would like you," Hermione joked. "Let's see... can it be anything?"

"Anything."

"... I like spicy food."

Draco nodded. "Same here. And anything with rosemary on it."

"Interesting... your turn."

Draco looked to his left, being careful not to turn the car the same direction. The view really was fantastic - miles and miles of mountains piled behind each other, set under a bottomless sky. The leaves on the trees were orange, something typical of Alaska in late September, not August. White mountain tips touched darkening clouds as the sun began to fall. "I... love art. Especially landscapes."

Hermione nodded, adjusting her seat belt as she felt him make a particularly tight turn. "So do I. I prefer still life though." She paused. "My favorite author is F. Scott Fitzgerald."

"Hmm. If I had a favorite he might be it, muggle though he is. No disrespect of course." He slowed the car down as they neared another sharp turn. "I'm fluent in German. Lucius's mother was German; I still call her Oma."

Hermione smiled a bit. "I thought you might be, somewhere in there. I'm actually fluent in French."

"Lucius's father was English though, and a bit of a hardarse to be sure. So naturally he raised a cretin like my father."

It was weird to hear him talk about his father now. He sounded normal about it, not like an obsessed little kid using his father as both a shield and a sword. "My grandmother was an author. She always said I was her favorite grandchild because I appreciated a good book."

Draco smiled. "And so you do, bookworm."

"I'm not some swotty nitwit! You don't even know. Books give me air. Reading is my air. Just the _smell_ of books... sort of an unsalted pretzel twist smell, you know? The smell of old parchment." She stopped. "I... I'll never be able to read again."

She hadn't even thought of that yet. Without her eyes, she was unable to indulge herself in the many novels and research journals she had piled up in her flat back in London. She couldn't scan the _Prophet_ in the mornings while sipping chamomile tea, her favorite.

"That's nonsense, Hermione. Even if we don't succeed in killing No Name, once the Ministry and the Order have you back, the first thing they'll do is bring you that cure."

It seemed, even though she trusted her friends and at least some people in the Ministry, that this idea of her being all better after this... was not likely to be a reality. If anyone else had been blinded this way, she would have been researching and researching until she had the perfect potion to cure it... but it wasn't her making this cure. It wasn't Snape brewing a perfect antidote for some ailed student in the hospital wing.

In reality, school had babied her. Now that she was in the real world, she had to deal with the incompetence of the ones running everything. Because it always seemed to turn out that way - the ones with the loud voices with nothing meaningful to say seemed to always get power positions and do basically nothing with them.

"I think it's my turn," Draco said quietly, not unaware of Hermione's thoughts. "I learned how to drive as a Death Eater."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "Well, I guess a Death Eater would have a use for that in certain situations." She paused. "Why did you become a Death Eater?"

"I believe it's your turn," he said somewhat stonily, his demeanor taking on the same quality it'd had in England.

It didn't turn Hermione off as much as it would have just months before however. She knew that even when he got like this, she could still get an answer out of him. In other words, their strange new relationship... sort of made both of them a little less afraid of each other.

"I'm not trying to be self-servicing here," she put forth, leaning back in her seat. "I just want to know you better."

It was amazing how she could still make his heart do that. "Alright then. I didn't really choose to become a Death Eater - I was chosen. By the Dark Lord. I suspect he picked me because of Lucius... because he could have chosen any other Death Eater's child that went to Hogwarts. Naturally, I was gratified that he picked _me_ out of everyone else to do his bidding - never mind the task - but at the same time, I was sickened by it. I think I knew, even then, that I was just another tool for him to use." He looked over at her, and was hit with the strangeness of the situation - him sharing these thoughts with Hermione Granger, who for once was not jumping down his throat.

"I can relate a little," she said, playing with the end of her braid. "I've always felt that I worked too hard at times to be Harry and Ron's friend. As a result, I really never made friends with anyone else. Not even Ginny that much. And... for the longest time, everyone except Harry just saw me as this... information hub. Even Ron still treats me that way sometimes."

"Well, I bet it was nice to have close friends at least." He hadn't meant that to sound so cold, so he quickly followed it with, "The closest thing I had to a friend was Blaise, even though we fought more often than not."

"What about Crabbe and Goyle?"

Draco shook his head, trying not to remember the look on Crabbe's face as he had casted the spell that had led to his own death. It was... a smug look. "They were not much for conversation, as it were."

"I bet."

"The only reason they hung around me is because their parents wanted them to. I wasn't exactly nice to them ever."

"You were nasty to them, actually, now that I think about it."

"Yeah. Most of the time they just grated my nerves - but they were handy at times."

They lapsed into silence, Hermione listening to the sound that the wind made as it moved over the little car. After a minute, Draco spoke up. "I think it's still your turn."

She shook her head. "I don't know what to tell you, Draco. I'm just... not that interesting really."

"Everyone has quirky things about them, Hermione. Even a downer like myself."

"I know... lets see. Um... I like cats."

Draco had to chuckle at that. "I couldn't tell. You own a cat, if I'm not mistaken."

"A huge, flat-faced furball, yes. I love him so much."

"Loki's pretty obedient, isn't she? She makes me miss my cat back at the Manor."

"You have a cat?"

"Yes. A pompous little thing, but still great to have around."

On cue, Loki popped her head out next to Hermione's arm. All the noise from the car was making her a little nervous, and she hadn't eaten much besides water, bugs, and the occasional bird or rodent since they had left Bergen. She meowed and rubbed her head against Hermione's hand.

"Aw, poor Loki." she pulled the cat onto her lap and let Loki get comfortable. "Why did you bring her again?"

Draco shrugged, and then remembered that Hermione couldn't see the gesture. "I don't know. It was an impulse, really."

"What color is she?"

"... She's sort of a stormy grey color. Like storm clouds."

"A Russian Blue?"

"No. more like... a Tortoiseshell, except grey."

Hermione nodded slowly, realizing that he knew more about cats than she thought he did. "You really are something."

"I am, aren't I?"

"Pump your brakes, Malfoy."

He grinned.

* * *

"We haven't gotten them on the mobile in a while, have we?"

"No, I don't think we have," Nora said absently, reading over a document on bleached parchment. She pulled out a quill and wrote something at the bottom.

Harry turned away and faced the fake windows.

"I'm sorry I'm always busy now, Harry, but the Auror training finished, plus the Department of Mysteries is trying to harangue me about sharing information with them. As if. Last time I checked, they are researchers and we are ones that get shit done."

Harry raised an eyebrow; Nora was not usually this affected by her work. He turned around. "What do I need to do?"

She looked up at him and ran a hand through her dark fringe. Her bun was coming undone. "I don't know anymore, Harry. Without the direct connection to Hermione, we are in the dark as to what they are doing. And yet, I feel that a confrontation is only weeks away. Like... it's coming and we aren't ready for it."

"Of course we aren't. The Death Eater's hideout is somewhere out there, and we can't be ready without knowing where it is and when Malfoy plans on striking it."

Nora got up and paced the length of her office slowly. "I could try him again, see if he'll tell us. But he won't... he's as stubborn as ever. I don't like this situation, to be honest. Surely he knows they are going to a certain death? And yet he continues... dragging a _blind_ Hermione behind him. I mean... it's a fool's mission. Through and through." She stopped. "So then why is he doing it?"

"You heard him. He says that the Ministry would make a mess of things."

"No it _wouldn't_. The _old_ Ministry would make a mess of things... but my department would not. And the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would not. It's when you get to the politics and the press conferences and all that crap that things start getting messed up."

Harry shrugged. "In my experience, the Ministry _always_ complicates things. Even when it came to the War."

Nora nodded slowly. "Well, the Ministry thoroughly botched the War, I'll give you that. But that's before I came to this position - now things are different."

"Not really. You know that."

"Fuck. You're right." She paused. "I guess I just like to be in control of things. It runs in my family... both my brother and I were that way."

"The one No Name murdered?"

"Yes. Both intelligent, controlling, aggressive. I bet he put up a good fight. He wasn't afraid to fight dark magic with dark magic." She shook her head. "If she capped _him_, then Draco has a real challenge catching her off-guard."

"I think the lot of us do."

"And then... the only other reason I can think of that he is taking Hermione along with him to destroy them... is that nothing has changed. He is still doing No Name's bidding."

Harry stopped. Of course, they had thought that at the beginning, when all they'd had was his name and that he had kidnapped her. But somehow... they had been convinced otherwise. By Hermione? By Draco himself?

"Oh no."

"Yes, it is a scary thought, but it's one we have to consider. Why else wouldn't he tell us the location of the Death Eater stronghold? He doesn't trust us to keep it to ourselves, keep things quiet... or he doesn't want us to know because _No Name_ doesn't want us to know?"

"But... they really do like each other. And he was civil enough to us... and he talked about protecting her..."

"If he really wanted to protect her, he would have let us take her back in Norway. Or before that, even."

"That's... that's true."

"I know," she mumbled, taking up her quill again and moving back to her seat. "I tried to tell him that... but he said he wanted to stay with her. Be with her. In reality, he's probably sealed both of their fates."

Harry shook his head. "This has gone on long enough. It's about time we stopped them and handled things ourselves. Besides, I heard that the Minister gave you a hard time about not bringing them in immediately after we talked to them over the phone."

Nora shrugged. "I can handle the Minister. He throws his tantrums, but he knows we are too valuable to write off. And Hermione's smart, and so is he - they're likely to find a way to infiltrate and get No Name alone... but after the alarms have been raised, it's all over for them. He must know this."

"But... there is only two of them - correction, one and a half of them - versus maybe thirty or forty rabid bludgers like Rubinoff."

"Well then," Nora said, looking up again. "I think we should call them, shouldn't we?"

* * *

"That thing is ringing again."

"Well, answer it."

"I told you, I'm a little preoccupied with the road right now. Besides, I doubt we'll get reception here."

"Well, where is the next town?"

Draco shook his head. "We aren't even close to Tok yet, Hermione. We still have another few hours left."

"Didn't we pass through a town?"

"Yes, but we still have enough gas and money to get there, so why stop? Trust me. I'm the one driving."

"I swear..."

Loki meowed from Hermione's lap. Why were they talking that way to each other?

"Don't worry, sweetie, we'll get some proper food for you soon." Hermione shook her head. "How did you get your hands on American muggle money?"

"How do you think? I nicked it of course." He heard her mutter something like "terrible" under her breath. "Well how else would I finance such a trip? Of course, a broom would be fantastic right about now, but we don't have that luxury - "

"_Listen_ to yourself. To tell you the truth, I don't even think I remember what the relationship is between American dollars and euros. How you managed to pay for things is beyond me."

"I just give them a large bill and trust that they give me the correct change."

"Lessons in life from Draco Malfoy. You're lucky they don't know you're a foreigner. They may try to short-change you."

"That's likely," he scoffed.

"In any case, I don't imagine you brought the phone charger with you, so the mobile is likely to not have much battery left."

"What the hell is a phone charger?"

"... It's like a black cord with these... these things on the ends..."

"Oh, I was wondering what that thing was."

Hermione began to undo her loosening braid. "So you didn't bring it, did you."

"Of course not! It looked like some weird kind of rope to me." Draco began to slow down as he spotted another one of the many pulloffs along the road. It seemed that the Americans who had built this highway knew that they were building a road right through some of the most beautiful mountains in the world, and deemed it necessary to indulge passing cars in suitable places to stop and gawk at the beauty unfolding right outside their cars.

He pulled into the area slowly, knowing that his driving skills weren't good enough to try anything fancy so high above ground. "Alright. I'll talk to them." Draco pulled the bag from the backseat and plopped it unceremoniously on Hermione's lap, forcing Loki to relocate with a confused meow.

_"Malfoy? Wow. You actually called back."_

"Shut it, Potter. What do you want?"

_"Well, let's see now. We were just wondering where the FUCK you are - no, I won't, Nora - because this has gone on long enough and it's about time that the Ministry handles things!"_

"So you're a dog of the Ministry now, Scarhead? I figured you were less impressionable than that."

_"Thanks Malfoy, I never knew you cared. Now you can either give us your location of we'll just have to triangulate the mobile."_

"Triangulate? Whatever, Potter. You wouldn't even be able to find us. If you haven't noticed, the reception is terrible, meaning that we are far out of your reach - literally."

_"Oh, you are so - "_ the line went silent for a second before the voice changed. _"Draco? Harry is being serious. You two are not equipped to handle this mission, and you know it. You're going to get both of you killed or worse."_

"You don't have a lot of faith in us, do you Constable?"

_"Don't give me that, Malfoy. Be reasonable. You must know by now that this is a huge mistake."_

"Look," Draco said quietly, ignoring Hermione's hand on his arm. "I don't finish anything ever. I need to finish this."

Nora was silent for a few seconds before she replied, _"I understand your need to satisfy your revenge, Draco. But you don't have to die in the process."_

Hermione shook her head. Nora was being logical, while she was not. Of course, in the beginning she had thought long and hard about the stupidity of this mission, but all of that had gotten clouded by her emotions. She guessed that at some point she had been content to just let him worry about things, just let him take control, which in ways is exactly what she let Harry and Ron do all those times back in school. Either that, or she had guessed that eventually someone would come for her and then it would stop mattering.

"Nora?" Hermione asked, waiting for Draco to hand her the phone. "Nora. I know this seems bad - "

_"Hermione, please. We need to help you and you know it - at least to get your eyesight back before you go in there."_

Hermione felt her eyes prickle. That feeling she'd had for a while, that she and Draco were running out of time, came back again full force. "I... I know. It's just... if we don't do it, it will be like he kidnapped me for no reason... at least if we bring them down, there is a chance that... there's a chance that the Ministry will understand and..."

_"... And let you two stay together."_

She shook her head. Crying about this would solve nothing. She sucked in her feelings and took a deep breath.

_"Hermione... I don't want to upset you, but the longer you spend in his custody, the heavier his sentence will be. And yet, I need you to hold off going after the Death Eaters because you aren't fit right now to take on something like that."_

"So basically... I'm buggered either way."

_"No, it doesn't have to work like that."_

"Well, it will."

_"Trust me, Hermione. In the long run, it's better if this ends now. That way if you still feel strongly about him, you can visit him in Azkaban, and then once he gets out, you can start a normal life."_

Hermione suddenly had the bizarre urge to smile. _Of course_, she thought. "Nora, I've been living a somewhat normal life for as long as I remember - "

_"I don't think your escapades with Harry and Ronald can be called normal, but go ahead."_

"I've been living a normal life. I guess what I needed was a little extreme abnormality. Let's face it - this is pretty extreme. Being blinded, chased by dark wizards, traveling through forests... growing to like a previous enemy. It's... I don't know."

_"That's all good and well, Hermione, but above all you should be concerned for your own safety. At least let us give you a spell to make it easier."_

"What was that?" Draco asked, taking the phone from Hermione. "You know a spell that can make it easier for her?"

_"Yes, we've done some research. It will help her better feel where things are, and paint sort of a three-dimensional map of the area around her."_

"That sounds... wait, what is this beeping noise?"

The line was silent.

* * *

_Author's note:_ There is a new trailer for this story! Brand spankin' new. Visit my profile for the link.

The song for this chapter is "Failure is Not An Option" by Mirrored Theory.


	29. Repaint Tomorrow

_The best thing about the future is that it only comes one day at a time. ~ Abraham Lincoln_

**Chapter Twenty-nine: Repaint Tomorrow**

"Their mobile must have died."

"They can die?" Ron asked from the corner, closing the manila folder in his hands.

"... Yes, they can. Well, at least we still got the location. We're waiting for the muggles to get done processing the map."

It seemed that somehow, the Ministry had gotten people into various muggle law enforcement facilities for such an occasion. That way, whenever the muggle police got calls about things like biting doorknobs and barking chairs, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement got on it quicker than one could say _uh-oh_.

Ron nodded, reopening the folder. Harry looked at him skeptically, wondering where the distinct sadness was in Ron's demeanor. He looked almost normal today. "Are you feeling better, Ron?"

He shrugged. "My new job is keeping me busy, so I don't really have time to 'feel' anything." There was a bitter note in his voice, as if he was being sarcastic just for the appearance of sarcasm.

Harry furrowed his brows. "Where are you working again?"

Ron looked up, giving Harry the look he'd been wanting to give him for almost a month. "Now you care?"

"I've always cared... it's just that... it seems like I never see you anymore."

"I wonder why that is."

Harry sighed angrily. "Lookit, are you just going to keep being stupid about this or are you going to tell me what's wrong? I really want to hear it."

"Do you, now?" Ron calmly slapped the folder onto the desk next to him. "Alright then. How about this - where was my _friend_ when I needed him?"

"I've been here, trying to get all of this cleared up and Hermione here where she belongs!"

"No. I needed you to be there because you _get it_. You know? You _get_ how big of a loss this is." Ron shook his head, his familiar expression returning - that dead look.

"She's not dead, Ron." Harry eyed him.

Ron grumbled something like, "She might as well be."

"We tried to involve you, but you never seemed thrilled about it. Ever."

"What's this 'we' bullshit? You and Nora? Is she your new best buddy now?"

Harry squinted incredulously at the redhead. "What? No! She's the only one taking this seriously, and we need all the help we can get - "

"I don't want to hear it, Potter."

Harry's eyes widened. His memory tried desperately to conjure any instances where Ron had used his surname. He spoke it as if Harry was so unfamiliar to him, like he hadn't spent the better part of his life being friends with him. Harry put his head in his hand and scratched at his old scar, as was a new habit of his. "Ron, let's not do this."

Ron faltered a little bit. Harry was right - they were splitting up when they were supposed to be sticking together. "We just used to do things ourselves, you know? And now, it just seems like everyone is getting involved. I don't care if it's helping - it's just not how _we_ do things."

Harry stopped scratching his face. "I'm so tired of that, though. We've been doing that since... forever. I just want... someone else to do most of the work for once."

Ron shrugged, fingering the edge of the folder. "I guess I know what you mean."

The door opened, revealing an animated Kingsley Shacklebolt and a tired Nora Constable. "We went through hell getting these, but we've got their location!" he said warmly, waving the muggle pieces of paper he was holding in the air briefly.

Nora nodded and closed the door behind him. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

The four gathered around the table, Harry scooting the paper so he could put a finger on the crosshair in the center of the page. He looked confusedly at the map, wondering at the lack of any sort of townage - but wait, there was one, a little further up. Tok? Where the hell was that?

"Where the hell is Tok?" His eyes moved down the page to the statistics underneath the map. "Alaska, USA, 16:32 hours." He paused. "They're in the States?"

"Alaska?" Nora asked, her voice taking on a tone he'd never heard coming from her before. Harry looked up at her face. It was paler than usual.

"Is... is there something about Alaska, Nora?"

Her hand, which had flown to cover her mouth, went to scoot the paper closer so she could see for herself.

"Nora?"

She shook her head. "Not Alaska. But... it's too close... too close to Canada."

"America does share a border with Canada," Ron suggested, obviously trying to be somewhat helpful.

"Not the lower forty-eight," she said dismissively. "I mean... Alaska."

"Alaska's not part of main mass, Ron," Kingsley murmured, looking at a different sheet. "Their velocity was... huh. Now that can't be right."

"What?"

Kingsley showed the number to Harry, who furrowed his brows. "Are they traveling by broom or something? That's pretty fast for walking."

"Maybe they fell down one of those mountains," Ron said, pointing at the map. Seeing as he kept a straight face, he was probably unaware of how morbid the thought was.

Harry shrugged. "For Hermione's sake, I hope you're wrong."

Nora stood up straight. "Alright. You lot know what this means. Kingsley, if you will, send for the head of your department. Ron, I know you have to be at work in an hour, but could you go down to St. Mungo's and retrieve the cure? They should have finished it a few hours ago. Harry, I need to talk to you in my office."

The group parted, Harry stacking up the white sheets and bringing them with him to her office. Once inside, he set them down on her sofa by the door and waited for her to speak.

He realized almost immediately that she was fighting back tears.

"What - Nora, what happened?"

She shook her head, wiping her eyes. "Ugh, I don't know, Harry. I... I have a theory. I just hope I'm wrong." She forced a smile on her face, and Harry quirked his head. She really looked creepy when she tried to fake-smile.

"I need you to do something you may not like."

* * *

Hermione munched happily on her food. She had come up with a system for eating.

She had read somewhere (naturally) that in case the lights ever went out because of enemies during the Second Great War, it was a good idea to establish the location of everything one needed using a clock system. So if things started to get hairy and one could not see one's surroundings, one would still know that the door was at about ten o'clock, the fireplace about three o'clock, etcetera. If she applied this to her memories of eating, she realized that her drink was usually around two o'clock, her utensils usually at three o'clock (since she was right handed,) and any belonging she possessed sat directly in front of her feet.

Loki's head popped up next to Hermione's hand and lightly touched it with her nose.

"Chips?" Hermione asked, grabbing a few and putting them on the table next to Loki's face. The cat sniffed at the unfamiliar food.

"She wants your chicken, I think," Draco said, twirling a fork in his spaghetti.

"Alright." Hermione felt around for the chicken on her plate.

Draco chuckled at the scene. "Your fingers are getting all icky, you know."

"Yes, I know."

Draco watched for another few seconds before he said, "Don't you think you should, I don't know, clean them?"

Hermione smirked. "Wow, Malfoy, I had no idea you wanted to sleep on the floor tonight."

He raised his eyebrows slightly, letting his astonishment peek through before covering his face with a nonchalant mask. "I had no idea _you_ wanted to sleep on the roof, Granger."

Hermione raised her own eyebrows, picking up the piece of chicken and ripping a few pieces off for Loki. The cat munched on them happily.

After further inspection of the motel (and another look at the amount of cash he had), Draco shook his head. "I'm _not_ in the mood to squat right now," he muttered, settling back in his seat. "How would you like to sleep in the car tonight, Hermione?"

Hermione's first thought was seatbelt buckles digging into her back and her knees aching in the morning, but she pushed these thoughts and memories down. They were wizards; they'd figure it out. "Know any space-altering spells?"

Despite the amount Hermione Granger had changed since that night on a lonely drive in Edinburgh, he could still hear a bit of her old self in her voice. She was testing him a bit; although her tone was nonchalant, it was also slightly expectant, as if she was curious to see his ability. Draco nodded and pointed at the back seat with his wand, reciting spells and altering the interior so that it was twice as big in both directions, though would appear normal once outside of it.

"Impressive," Hermione murmured after hearing the spells he'd used, stretching her arms carefully as to not punch him in the face.

"I always figured you'd go for the intellectual type."

"Rather than a scoundrel. Turns out I go for both."

"I really am a scoundrel, aren't I?" He ran his fingertips along her outstretched arm, causing her to jump. Hermione turned her head as if to look at him in surprise, then seemed to remember that this was not possible, so she settled for staring blankly in his direction.

Draco continued up her arm until he reached her hand; he used his thumb to rub gentle circles in her wrist. Her breath caught a bit.

_There it is,_ was the excited thought that ran through his head; he realized then that he'd been trying for the better part of their relationship to find something that would make her just forget everything and feel. It turns out that she didn't need to be sneak attacked, she didn't need to be tired or sleepy, and she didn't need to be led up to it a little at a time... she just needed this.

As he found himself staring at her, he once again tried to put the face of the girl she had been in school in front of him, trying to convince himself that it was the same person. It seemed like in a way, he'd never actually _hated_ her in the strict sense; in reality, besides grinding his nerves like no other and always over shining him like no other, he really hadn't given a shit about her. That is to say, there were worse people in the world, people he _actually_ hated.

Was he trying to rationalize the relationship that had seemed to blossom out of nowhere? Maybe. Or maybe she did seem a heck of a lot different now that she did not have Harry Potter and Ron Weasley hanging about.

He pushed aside these thoughts as he really assessed her appearance. She had changed a lot since Edinburgh; her hair, which had been still bushy, was now darker and a little lifeless, hanging down past her shoulders in lank waves; her face was thinner, revealing a beautiful neck and graceful jawline. Even her body had changed - she seemed taller than he remembered, and definitely slimmer. She wasn't as skinny as a bowtruckle or anything, but it was noticeable enough. He missed the fullness she seemed to possess before all this had happened.

_His fingertips..._

Hermione remembered them well, and what they were capable of. It seemed that she could add more to that lengthy list. "Scoundrel," she commented.

"I think we established that."

She shook her head, knowing that he was pulling her towards him and deciding not to fight it.

Instead of pulling her onto his lap, he gently pushed her back through the space between the seats, following her; she found that the back seat was further back than it should have been, so she promptly hit the stiff carpeted floor with him a breath away from tripping right on top of her.

Hermione had to scoot back a bit to let him in front of her; while he had altered the width and length of the car, the height was the same. Draco bared her to the carpet; her hair formed dark sun rays around her head as she lied back.

He was suddenly hesitant, realizing that her eyes were wide with anticipation; apparently his position over her created images of what normal couples do in this position.

_But we are not a normal couple, are we?_ He brushed some of her hair away from her face so he could kiss her on the cheek.

Hermione had other plans though; as his lips touched her skin, she kicked off her shoes and used her legs to pull his body against hers. He had to brace himself on his elbows to not crush her as suddenly her hands delved into his pants and pulled his shirt up.

"My god," he gasped as she tried to pull the thing off; he sat up as much as he could given the low ceiling and her constricting legs and removed the garment, tossing it behind him and probably over the steering wheel. Loki was meowing somewhere off to his right, probably wondering why the car was shaking so much as Hermione rolled him over.

She was above him, her hair itching his face and neck and smelling like freshly cut grass; she pulled her own shirt off, revealing her plain white bra and pink wounds. Draco was momentarily blinded by them before he realized that she had placed his hands on her hips and was trying to get them to take off her jeans.

"What... Hermione, stop for a second..." Her hands halted their movements, resting on his navel. One of her more troublesome wounds had reopened, and was bleeding freely, a red line trailing down her pale stomach.

She hadn't said anything yet, but the question on her face was clear - _Why are we stopping when I was on a roll?_

"One of your scabs opened," he muttered weakly, hoping that the after-effect of her aggressiveness - which she was currently sitting on - wasn't freaking her out.

"I know," she said, wiping the blood away before it could reach her pants, leaving a streak in its wake. She cleaned her hand on the carpet next to them, her body shifting the slightest bit, though it wasn't slight enough for Draco's lower half not to respond. Hermione froze.

It seemed that she had finally realized what she had been doing. Her posture visibly changed, and she attempted to cover her chest, though this just caused her body to shift again. She cleared her throat nervously.

Draco smiled openly. "You're so bossy," he murmured, pulling her hands away from her chest. "I like it a lot better than this scared little thing. We just don't have to put that bossiness to use just yet."

"Right," she said, shaking her head in an attempt to rid herself of the blush now covering her cheeks. Draco moved his hips back and forth a little, and Hermione predictably stiffened.

"You'll be feeling more than that in the future if I can help it," he whispered, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her bare waist; her posture softened a bit, and she gripped his back.

The metallic smell of her blood reached him then, and he pushed his palm against the open gash to stop the bleeding. Hermione gasped, perhaps in pain, but allowed him to press his hand against her stomach.

She tried not to think about his hand. If it was higher, it would be over her heart; if it was lower, it would be over her belly. The latter particularly startled her, and she brushed the thought away before the logical side of her brain could get to work on that particular topic. She did _not_ want to be thinking about that now. It would just remind her again of how little time they probably had.

She felt bad for holding out on him, as she felt like she was doing, because soon, there would be no more time for that anymore. There would be no possibility of that.

"I feel like I'm not putting out or something," Hermione muttered, feeling around until her hand found his.

Draco shook his head, trying to concentrate on applying pressure to her stomach. "You should already know that I don't really care about that so much. Besides," he removed his hand, happy to see that the bleeding had stopped, "you aren't withholding anything, and I'm not rushing you. If I was, I would have let you continue."

She nodded numbly, wondering when she had become so reckless. Probably around the same time she had pointed her wand at his neck and confessed her feelings. Or maybe just by not leaving his side the second she'd heard Neville's voice.

They sat like this in silence, Hermione still straddling his lap and Draco holding her hand. Hermione lessened the curtain around her mind and rubbed it against his a bit, attempting to calm his heartbeat, which she could feel against her own chest.

It now felt as if he _had_ let her continue; it didn't matter that they were still somewhat clothed.

_:All we need is this._:

She tilted her head, probably attempting to nod in agreement; unfortunately, she found it hard to concentrate on something as complicated and strenuous as nodding her head now.

* * *

Harry looked around the dark, deserted corridor, following the instructions that Nora had given him. She was right - he really didn't like this idea. If he were to be caught, it would be hell to pay - this was a _lot_ different than sneaking around in the Ministry after it had closed, as he had done a few years before.

The consequences for sneaking into the Archives... well, Azkaban was involved.

He used a charm she had given him - one that made his atoms spaced apart temporarily - and pushed himself against the wall.

It was the oddest sensation, having the stone pass right through him... he had to do it quickly before the charm wore off. Harry pushed harder.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he made it to the other side, just as he felt his skin tighten up once again. "I just walked through a wall," he murmured to himself, smiling slightly.

_Okay, back to business._ He was momentarily flabbergasted by the sight of huge, swaying stacks of books piled into oblivion; he didn't see any light sources, yet there seemed to be a surreal universal lighting in the place reminding him of fog. He read the sign next to the shelf in front of him - "Ministry Records."

Nora's directions were on point. If he had gone through the front entrance (as if he would even get away with that,) he would probably have walked for hours before finding this exact spot. She had told him he needed to walk a bit from here even to get to the section that he needed.

Harry started forward, sidestepping the smaller stacks and reading some of the signs along the way, such as "Azkaban Records," "Auror Training Scores," "Beast Discovery," and "Crimes Against Muggles" (that particular section was eerily long.) He came upon the section titled "House Arrest and Parole Records" after what seemed like forever; someone needed to come in here and better organize this place. He started down the row again, noting that the years dated all the way back to 1627.

He stopped in front of the leather-bound, encyclopedia-size book for the year 1995. The parchment was newer than the rest of the journals, seeing as it was only a few years old; Harry retrieved the large book from the shelf, wondering what Nora could possibly want with this.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Song for this chapter is "She Looks To Me" by Red Hot Chili Peppers. Also, if you haven't seen the NEW trailer, you are missing out. Seriously.


	30. The Art of Losing

_"The rush of battle is often a potent and lethal addiction, for war is a drug." ~ Chris Hedges_

**Chapter Thirty: The Art of Losing**

"I've finished the official manifesto," she announced, twirling her wine glass in between her fingers. "It's quite appealing. At least, it will be to Ms. Granger, and to the world."

Her minions nodded, their eyes shining with something like admiration. Despite the fact that their plan was disrupted by the escape of Hermione Granger, it seemed that things were finally going to turn out okay. They knew they were right to allow Master to lead them.

Originally, she had planned to capture Granger, quietly, and then somehow reassure everyone on the other side that things were normal. This would keep them from getting suspicious. Imperioused Granger, or at worst, Impersonated Granger, would tell them that she was away, working on some project. They would believe her, since it is in her nature.

And then, slowly, they would entwine their fingers in the Ministry once again. Get the ball rolling once again, and eliminate possible opposition smoothly. This entire plan was supposed to _go_ smoothly.

Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy just completely destroyed that.

The only thing that Master could be thankful about now was the fact that the magic that bound her to the compound should expire by midnight tonight. With that gone, she could put the final steps of her plan in motion.

* * *

The ride was relatively quiet for days; Draco only stopped the car to get gas and get sleep, realizing that the longer they drew out the trip, the more chance the Death Eaters had of knowing their location. He could not risk that… not this close.

At the same time, he found himself succumbing to fear - fear of the end, fear of what would happen even if things went according to plan.

The only thing he could do to keep these thoughts away was talk to Hermione, rub her back and her hair as she dosed, and immerse himself in the winding road, endless mountains, and stretching sky.

"You've been awfully quiet today," Hermione commented, saying this even though she knew why he was being quiet and was thinking about the same thing.

"Yeah," he murmured, knowing that his eyes were drooping and they would need to stop to sleep soon, despite it being the middle of the day. "I'm still messed up from the time zone change."

She realized that this was an excuse but nodded all the same; she didn't feel the need to get one-hundred percent honesty out of his mouth when she knew the truth anyway.

Invisibility spells were involved in passing through the border; Hermione grumbled something about breaking laws but went back to stroking Loki absently and rubbing her mind against Draco's.

"Have you thought about what's going to happen once you go back?"

Was he really asking this? Now, of all times, when they were days away from the end of their mission?

"Yes, I've thought about it."

"Well?"

Hermione shook her head. "There isn't much to say."

"There is quite a bit to say, and you know it," he replied quietly, keeping his eyes on the winding road in front of them. The mountains were thinning, giving way to the occasional house, more cars, and a calmer landscape.

"I suppose I'm going to have to talk to Ron. Things are… were… complicated there, and I shouldn't have jumped into anything without… better closure."

"Shit happens," Draco replied shortly, a possessive note in his voice that made him sound slightly childlike. Hermione smirked a bit. "And if Potter thinks for one second that I will sit quietly while he treats you poorly about it he is _dreaming_."

"I can deal with Harry," Hermione sighed. "And I'm not even worried so much about Ron. Really… I'm worried about the rest of the family. And the Ministry, how they are going to take it."

"Nora has told them I'm sure."

"It'll be different when they see for themselves, trust me. They're still blissfully unaware of how serious this all is. Nora can bark at everyone but it takes the truth staring them in the face to get the lot of them to move."

"Perhaps."

The silence that stretched on after this made Draco uneasy. His original thought was right - they were running out of time.

Everything was starting to run out, actually; they had very little muggle money left, and the gas gauge was dangerously close to Empty by the time they reached Whitehorse. Draco thought furiously on how he was going to get them all the way to Calgary without incident when things were already starting to come apart and they still had days ahead of them.

"We've been driving for a week," Hermione commented tiredly. "Surely you want to rest up a bit before we continue. And lay out a specific plan while we're at it."

Draco nodded. He really didn't want to go any further than this - after they passed Whitehorse, they had to be very careful to avoid catching No Name's attention. It had been hell to get to this point when he had escaped.

To him, it wasn't even a good idea to be seen in public at this point, but they really had no choice at the moment since they really needed decent food and a good night sleep before they went further.

And… Hermione's hair could definitely use a good brushing. No offense. Just observation.

He took the next exit to backtrack into town and found a hotel of decent size. It was crawling with muggles, but Draco still took precautions - such as casting a temporary hair-changing spell over his head that turned his hair brown. After checking himself in the rearview mirror - that look wasn't half bad for him - he gathered their belongings into the duffel bag. Hermione waited for him to lead her out of the car.

Squatting was more difficult in this hotel - he knew it probably was not a good idea to use magic to hide them, so he tried to get in by using as little magic as possible.

Hopefully no one would check into room 320.

As he closed the door, he was reminded strongly of the night they had spent in Karlstad, though this hotel was definitely less lavish than the Swedish one. He briefly eyed the multicolored floral print bedcovers with distaste before he threw the bag next to the corner table.

Like that hotel room and the room they'd shared in Bergen, there was one bed, one bathroom and a window. He looked over at Hermione.

She was becoming increasingly more quiet with him, as he'd been noticing; she had warned him at the start of this journey that he would be hearing her opinion quite often, so where was it?

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders tentatively. "I'm not gonna lie, I don't want to do this anymore."

Hermione leaned back against him and lowered her arms so Loki could jump down and pad into the room. "I don't either. But we started something, and we have to finish it. You said so yourself."

He nodded, slightly turned off by her reply. "You're right. I just wish sometimes that I didn't hate her so much."

"Use that hate."

He walked her into the room and sat her on the bed, going towards the bathroom so he could shower. It was almost customary now that he showered first.

There was something awkward between them at the moment, something he couldn't place. Once again, he found himself trying to picture their school days, trying to conjure her image from his memories. It was almost as if she didn't exist there anymore; she only existed in front of him.

Was that it? It was almost as if he couldn't actually remember hating her, while for her, it was like he was a completely different person… because she couldn't see him. For all she knew, he wasn't even who he said he was. It could all be a front, and he could be some random nobody, some Death Eater, or some impersonator. There was a level of "how is that even possible," but it was still a thought.

He also couldn't help but think about what happened the last time they were in a hotel room. He ran hand through his wet hair, noting that it was long enough for him to see - it was already blond again - and put his head back under the torrential water. Intimacy was not something he should be thinking about at a time like this, but he honestly wondered when they would get another opportunity.

"Draco? Do you mind if I join you?" came a shaky question from the bathroom door.

"Of course not," came the immediate reply. Apparently Hermione had been thinking the same thing; that must have been why she was so quiet. He stood there for a second, letting the implications of her wanting to shower with him hit him a bit too late, but opened the curtain nonetheless to retrieve a towel to dry his face. She was leaning against the door frame, almost facing the wrong direction; Loki was twirling around her feet, tail grazing Hermione's jean-clad, grass stained knees.

When she turned to face his direction, he was briefly startled into wrapping the towel he was holding around his waist before remembering that not only was it a little late for that anyway, but also that she couldn't see him.

Hermione could feel his nervousness as he took his time helping remove her shirt, socks, and jeans. He backed away slightly once she was down to her plain white undergarments.

"You don't have to shower with me if you don't want to."

"I want to," she murmured, titling her chin down and fingering the straps of her bra. "Besides… I could use a little help with my hair," she added in a lighter tone.

Hermione willingly asking for help… usually, she was all about "let me figure it out," and "I'll do it myself." Was she getting used to him being "in charge?" It was in his personality to want to be in control of everything; that was why he didn't want the Ministry involved in his plot, and why he devised the plot in the first place. She was the same way, but due to her blindness it seemed that she was forcing herself into a backseat role, not just in this mission, but also with everything else.

It was not that she was getting used to him leading the way; it was more that she was tired of doing all the thinking for every plot that she herself had been a part of, especially with Harry and Ron. Draco seemed to figure things out well enough, and unlike her previous adventures he technically knew what they were dealing with more than she did.

Besides, she _did_ make valuable contributions to their journey.

She kept trying to tell herself that anyway.

She let him slip her straps off her shoulders; the stiffness of the bra held it up even once the straps were down. He briefly pulled her to him as if to hug her, letting his fingers find the back of her bra… no, he didn't really know how to undo it. Hermione curled up into his wet embrace as he pulled the thing down to her stomach, trying not to let it curl up and become like a rope against her skin.

He turned her around and knelt so he could finish taking off her bra and pull down her underwear. Hermione stood as still as she could, realizing that she couldn't tell what he was looking at, or if he didn't like what he saw. She hugged her arms to her bare chest, feeling cool water drops squish between her touching skin.

"Don't assume I know what I'm doing," Draco put forth when he stood up. "Purebloods are brought up to stay virgins until marriage. I'm trying to figure this out as much as you are, so stop worrying so much."

It sounded harsh, but that was the way he was. She was used to this tone. "I'll try not to."

He cleared his throat and steered her into the waiting shower, only removing the towel when she became preoccupied with the hot water.

She could feel him staring at her. It was hard to keep from shaking as she felt around the shower for a bar of soap or bottle of shower gel. She snatched up a small bottle.

"That's conditioner," he said quietly, and stepped into the shower with her.

Hermione unconsciously gave him some space as he found the correct bottle and unscrewed the cap. She was quickly becoming disoriented, not remembering from which direction she stepped into the shower and from which direction the water was coming. She pushed down this fear however and stood still, using her fingertips to feel the shower tiles.

Cool hands were suddenly on her back, rubbing shower gel across her shoulders. Hermione quickly moved the lumpy wet mass of her hair aside.

She wanted to know what he was thinking as he smoothed suds down her back and both sides of each arm. He gripped her waist for a brief moment before reaching around and cleaning her stomach, made flat by the lack of an abundance of food and an increase in exercise and stress.

Oh no. He was flush against her back! Hermione titled her head up, realizing that she had been almost cringing the entire time he had been washing her. His hands were still on her stomach, and she just knew from the position of his chin on her shoulder that he was looking down at her body.

"Draco - "

He stepped back a bit, under the shower head, so the water hit her hair, and began combing through it with his fingers, using both hands to split apart knots and pull loose strands away so they could fall into the drain. Her hair was clinging to everything because of how long it was; he hadn't realized her hair was this long actually. He continued to comb through it, hoping that he was doing a sufficient job.

Her hair had always been a nuisance to Hermione. She loved and hated it, depending on the day, it seemed. While she recognized that it was unique and soft, she also recognized that it was messy and intimidating. Only when she had started to wear it in a french braid did she feel like people actually started to take her seriously and look into her eyes as she spoke.

It was quite something to feel Draco attempt to run his fingers through it and touch it in such a way. He'd always given her shit about her hair before, and even recently she had felt as if her hair was something he'd have to overlook in order to appreciate her on a physical level.

"Your hair feels amazing when it is wet. Did you know that?"

She shook her head slowly as to not dislodge his fingers from her scalp. He had worked out quite a few large knots, something that even with a comb would have taken Hermione much longer.

He ran his fingers through one last time, attempting to catch any remaining loose hairs. He collected a few between his fingers and let the running water wash them away.

Before she knew it, he was rubbing muggle shampoo into her scalp and she had nearly forgotten about how very naked they were.

"Muggle shampoo smells odd," he commented, trying to steamroll over her silence. He was probably used to the earthy smells of wizard hair potions; she could sense his distaste over the rich perfume-like smell. It was soon washed out, leaving Hermione's hair still smelling slightly of grass but cleaner than before.

"How are you doing?" he asked, moving her hair aside and rubbing her shoulders.

"I'm alright," she murmured.

He turned her to face him and took a step forward so the water wasn't hitting her in the face. Hermione cringed a little bit as she felt something graze her hip. She tried not to think about what it was.

He noticed her sudden nervousness. "Hey, stop that."

"Sorry."

He pulled her closer by her hips and bent to kiss her mouth.

She was at a stage in her blindness where despite the fact that she couldn't see him, she still knew that a kiss was coming, based on the way his body shifted in front of her and how his hands repositioned on her hips. She let it happen, opening her mouth more after a few seconds.

She found herself getting used to the rhythm of snogging, even after only a handful of times. The hard part became resisting the urge to giggle or cringe as she occasionally felt his teeth click against hers.

And this was nice. It really was.

She'd never thought she'd enjoy this, but well, it really was nice.

He was smiling when he pulled away briefly. "You taste like apple again."

"Again?" She brushed some wet fringe out of her eyes. "That means I need to brush."

He shrugged. The thought had occurred to him years ago that when he should be married, he doubted he could deal with either his wife or himself being in less than impeccable "condition" when they did anything of this sort. As it turns out, he didn't really care either way, though being all perfectly clean and pampered for such an occasion was ideal. He was a bit too preoccupied to care about something like Hermione needing to shave her legs or the stubble on his chin that was rubbing against her jaw.

Hermione suddenly realized that she was standing there like a statue, her arms at her sides. She panicked briefly before she lifted her hands and circled them behind his back; Draco's hands became tight on her hips and moved up to cup her breasts.

"Eh," came the response; she disengaged from his mouth, her eyes wide open.

"Sorry… I got carried away," Draco mumbled, mentally kicking himself.

"It's perfectly fine," she replied apologetically, and stepped forward again. "We're kind of together, aren't we? You've got every right to."

"We are together, yeah," Draco said, as if to reassure himself. He hadn't really thought of their relationship in that sense yet; there was almost no need to say something like this out loud. It had been an assumption until this point. "But it's about time we got dressed anyway."

He retrieved another towel from the rack and shut off the water before wrapping it around Hermione's shoulders and rubbing it against her. This towel was rougher and shorter than the ones at the Manor, but nothing was quite like things at the Manor, he realized.

"Thanks," she murmured, slightly relieved to be somewhat covered up once again.

He gathered up his own discarded towel and toweled off before wrapping it around his waist and fetching some semi-clean clothes from the duffel. He returned with the dress and a few things for himself.

"I like when you wear this," he said, letting Hermione use one hand to feel the familiar fabric of the sundress. She smiled.

"I'll wear it then." She dropped her towel to the floor after a moment. He forced himself to keep from staring at her body by lifting the dress over her head and watching her pull it down. It was funny how instead of looking at her body as something he would eventually sample, his brain backtracked to his fourteen year old self and thought gleefully, "I just saw Hermione Granger naked!" He cleared his throat and readjusted the dress so the front was not twisted, trying to suppress a grin. His fourteen year old self would have had a seizure.

"Thanks," he said, planting a kiss on her neck. Hermione shivered. That was kind of nice as well. She tilted her head back, her arms finding their way to his torso, and she put her hands on his stomach. He stopped briefly, seeming to notice that this was the first time she had touched him like this, and as she ran her hands over his smooth stomach she was unable to stop from blushing at how strong it felt. He planted a stronger kiss on her neck, one that tickled her neck so much it seemed to extend down to her belly, then back up. She let out a small gasp.

It was as if the energy and desire he'd felt for her that brief moment in the shower reawakened. His hands smoothed down her sides quickly and fitted under her bum, where he squeezed and lifted her into the air. Hermione immediately wrapped her legs around his hips as he carried her back into the room.

She didn't realize where he was taking her until her back met the bed and he was on top of her, already kissing her mouth.

His restraint was apparent, though so was his excitement. She liked this better than straddling him; there was less she had to think about, and as such she could literally just lie back and _feel._ She found herself trying to place everything that was happening and why it felt so right. She knew his weight on her should feel heavy but he seemed to fit against her so perfectly. She wondered briefly how comfortable he was, still naked with nothing but a bunched up towel around his waist._ And my neck..._ she gasped as his lips left hers and began to trail down her body.

That electric thrill she had felt on so many occasions came back. Where was he going to kiss her next? She didn't know, as he leaned away each time. He kisses became gentler and more spaced apart as he lifted her dress up to her stomach and continued kissing down her hip. She was smiling when his lips connected with hers again, and could feel happiness through his own.

"What's so funny?"

She shook her head. "Nothing is funny. I just... huh." She sighed, knowing her cheeks were red, and covered her face with one hand. She felt amazing. "That was wonderful."

"We haven't done anything yet!" he laughed.

"Well, that _felt_ like something," she replied, smiling widely, "Mr. Malfoy."

She laughed when he kissed her again.

* * *

_"How dare you speak across me as if I am a child. As if I don't know how to handle my own department!"_

_"Your methods are completely against Ministry standards! You cannot deny this. And I'll speak to you in any manner I wish."_

Harry backed away from the closed door of the conference room, wondering who was giving Nora trouble now. They had enough stress without dealing with the greedy hands of every high ranking Ministry official in the building. Besides, they had a schedule to keep - they were going after Hermione and Malfoy tonight and needed to be completely ready for the mission.

_I better just put this on her desk instead. She seems quite busy at the moment._

Harry clutched the book of records to his chest and walked back down the hallway, turning the corner and sidestepping a flustered secretary to reach Nora's office door.

He promptly dropped parchment book he was holding, not even flinching when the loud thud reverberated down the stone walls.

The door was ajar. Nora never left her door open like that.

He was almost afraid to step inside, as if he already knew what he was going to find.

As he peered around the doorway, something on her desk caught his attention. An expressionless geisha mask sat among the various parchment rolls and bleached muggle documents there. There was a small spatter of blood just above the left eye.

Harry backed out of the room and tore down the hallway, barely reducing speed enough to burst through the door of the conference room.

"No Name broke into your office!"

* * *

_Author's note:_ The song for this chapter is "L.E.S. Artistes" by Santigold.


	31. My Life Inside Your Heart

_"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know." - Ernest Hemingway_

**Chapter Thirty-one: My Life Inside Your Heart**

Draco returned from the grocery with an assortment of fruit, cheese, crackers, and pastries, as well as a small box of tea bags. They now definitely had enough food to last for a few days, though Draco intended on stuffing his face.

Hermione was laying down on the bed, petting Loki on the head; she sat up when she heard Draco enter. Her nose picked up on the sweet baked smell of pastries almost immediately; she could smell the tea next, and just a hint of the oranges.

Draco smirked. "You look like a cat when you do that."

Hermione faltered. She did indeed look like a cat, what with the way she was sniffing the air and leaning toward him on all fours.

He magicked the table over to them, on which he proceeded to lay out a few pastries. Hermione took one as soon as she could, taking small bites out of it.

Draco then turned the pillow he was leaning against into a cup - oh, he'd done a bad job on that, the cup was lumpy - and got up to make the tea.

"I spent nearly the last of the money. And then some." He smirked. "That's why wizards have biting wallets."

Hermione shook her head and searched for another pastry. She was probably going to have a stomach ache later, but at the moment she didn't care. She hadn't had a pastry in months.

They ate in silence, Draco occasionally handing something edible to Hermione or combing his fingers through her damp hair. By the time they realized they were full, they had plowed through all the pastries, most of the fruit, and an entire box of crackers. Draco transfigured Hermione's lumpy teacup into a small cardboard box, where he put the remainder of the food.

Hermione didn't think she'd had a better meal in her life; she smiled and laid back on the bed and listened to Draco put away the food and set a cooling charm on the box. He then pulled her against him and lied back against the remaining pillows, pulling a leg over his own and trailing his fingers over it.

Hermione smiled, a light blush still covering her cheeks at how carried away they had gotten earlier… but here was something that had been bugging her for a while. She had been thinking about the end, again, the eventuality of them being separated by a holding cell, or a small wooden fence and a Ministry bench. And then she thought… surely he knew, even in the beginning, how difficult it would be to lead a normal life after everything. He could do so himself (most likely,) but the world did not work that way. There were laws that had to be upheld, and people that needed to see him fall.

Why did he choose her? To change himself? What was in all of this for him?

She liked to think that love - or whatever it was between them - certainly made a reason to change… but somehow it did not seem good enough in Hermione's mind.

"Why… why are you doing this?"

She wasn't talking about the increased attention he was paying to her physically; she wasn't even talking about their "mission."

Draco didn't answer; he continued to rub small circles in the back of her thigh.

"Draco? Why aren't you still with the Death Eaters? Why aren't you… the same?"

He frowned. "I wanted out. I've always wanted out. Of everything."

Hermione didn't really like the sad sound of that. She snuggled closer to him, feeling her heart reach out to him a bit. No one should ever have to feel like that. "Is that what this is? A way out?"

He shrugged, trying to concentrate on the movements of his fingers. "Perhaps."

He could feel her dissatisfaction with this answer; she let out a small noise of concern and furrowed her brow.

"I knew I could just get out of it… without destroying it, as hard as getting out was. But my mind wouldn't let me. It's what happens when you hate something so much."

Hermione's head tilted to the side a bit. "But in the end, its not satisfying to just destroy something. Having that intellectual upper hand, and knowing that the other person sees the error of his ways and regrets them… that is where the satisfaction comes from."

Draco raised an eyebrow and moved so he could look down at her. He had scarcely thought that Hermione could think about such things. Of course, he should have assumed that she would intellectually dissect emotions, but… there was a creepy edge to her voice. He could now picture her smiling maliciously as she exacted revenge on someone. "How do you know about hate and revenge?"

Hermione knew he was not being condescending. "Trust me… I know. I've hated. Very strongly."

He briefly wondered if at any time he'd been on that list of people she hated.

"Remind me not to piss you off."

Her mouth quirked into a small smile. "It takes more than that to get me to hate someone."

"What does it take?"

Her fingers found the edge of her dress and began to pick at it. "It takes… blindness. To one's own actions and their consequences. And then an impossibility of reparations in the end."

"Really? You must not hate a lot of people."

"I try not to hate people. I hate actions and I hate certain ideas, but I can't always blame someone for believing in something. Its when someone knows its wrong and doesn't care… that's about when I want to wring their neck."

Draco nodded slowly, settling back against the pillows at their back. "For the record, I always knew it was wrong. And I did care. I just wasn't strong enough to find a way out, or figure some other way to make things easier."

"But you found the will to escape, back in June."

"I got lucky," he scoffed.

She shook her head. "While we are on the subject," Hermione said, shifting so that she was sitting up a little more, and thus forcing Draco to remove his hand from her leg, "how did you escape the first time?"

"It was difficult, but at the same time… surprisingly easy." He ran a hand through his hair. "Instead of keeping prisoners in some dungeon with only one person guarding them, as is the norm, Master put a cage in the middle of the dining hall, with the dinner table surrounding it. That way, there was almost always someone in the room, whether they are standing around having a chat or eating."

"Ingenious, albeit slightly morbid," Hermione commented quietly. "That alone makes it near impossible to escape."

"Yes," he continued, "except for the fact that when meetings are called, everyone is required to be present. And meetings are not held in the dining hall… it was almost taboo to discuss work over the dinner table. So during a meeting, I slipped around the edge of the anti-magic barrier and broke through the wards on the cage. Then I just had to walk to the exit."

"I can't imagine breaking through the wards was an easy task, especially without a wand."

He shook his head. "That wasn't the hardest part however; it became difficult the second I left the compound. Once the alarms are raised… there are people everywhere. I spent a good week running on foot from Death Eaters, and if it weren't for a muggle trucker passing through Calgary on his way to Alaska, I wouldn't have made it out.

"I got a car in Whitehorse and drove the rest of the way into Alaska… there were times when I could see Death Eaters flying on brooms above my head, and I had to apparate with the entire car once… that's not something I want to do again. But once I got to Anchorage, I stayed for a bit before taking an illegal portkey into England, around the time Krokesh and Rubinoff were assigned to capture you.

"I know them well; they like to bide their time for the perfect opportunity. So I followed you, knowing that they were likely to not be far behind. When I spotted them, a few days before your trip to Edinburgh, I focused on them."

"And then you kidnapped me," Hermione finished.

Draco scowled. He'd forgotten about his part in screwing up her life. "Yes. I did. Sorry about that."

"It's okay… if you hadn't, I'd be dead or worse. And no one would suspect anything, if Master is as diabolical as she sounds. She will have thought of all of that."

"She does think of everything." Suddenly there was an itch at the back of Draco's mind; he grasped at it, narrowing his eyes… no, it was gone. He'd tried time and time again to break through the barrier No Name had put on his mind, keeping him from realizing her identity. It was like… he knew who she was, but just couldn't remember.

"We aren't prepared," Hermione murmured. "We should have spent the last few weeks training for this."

"My plan is that it never comes to a full fight. Remember, I said their weakness was the fact that _without Master_, they turn into a bunch of confused and suspicious idiots. Master has tried her best to have this not be the case - unlike the Dark Lord, she values intelligence over loyalty, figuring that loyalty can be bought. But… it's too soon for that to have completely come into effect.

"Also, she specifically told them who ranks above who, but doesn't realize that when she's present, everyone's all friendly and whatnot, but if she were to die, or become incapacitated, there would be a great power struggle. Her intention was to model the Death Eaters after the Mongols, who apparently sectioned their army so that each person in power was responsible for ten soldiers, or ten commanders, or generals."

"She's probably about as smart as Kublai or Chinggis, but couldn't say the same for her underlings."

Draco smiled. He had forgotten that she knew of Muggle history. "Correct."

Hermione sighed. "We should still practice. Just… tell me about some spells you know, some spells I should expect to be sent my way, and then I'll tell you some spells I've found."

Was she serious? "Granger, I - "

"You want to win, correct? We're gonna need the confidence, the knowledge, and the strength to go in there, bugles blaring and everything to lose. That is how wars are won - when you have the guns _and_ the brains and confidence to back it up."

Suddenly she could feel him moving over her, and before long she felt him kiss her on the neck.

"Um… oi! Hey, we need to practice!" she mumbled, putting her hands against his chest but not actually pushing him away.

"_You_ said we need to practice… and we will. But first, I need to kiss you. All this talk about war and strategy has me all hot and bothered."

Hermione made a surprised noise in the back of her mouth before she turned her head to the side to allow him better access. A grin filled her face up, and Draco was momentarily dazzled by the openly happy expression she was sporting, as well as the sudden coloring in her cheeks.

"I think talk of war has me all hot and bothered as well."

He smirked. She really was more devious than she looked.

* * *

"How did she even get in here? How did she even… pass all the wards on your door, all the wards around the entire Ministry?"

"I don't know," Nora replied, watching Kingsley as he moved magical instruments around the room to try to detect any sort of evidence left behind by the intruder. "All I know is that she took the papers. On Malfoy's location."

Harry put his head in his hands. How had No Name known to strike today, of all days? It was unreal.

"We all have to keep our eyes and ears open now," Kingsley commented, watching the orb he was holding with great intensity. He relaxed and shook his head. "I think we need to get the muggle liaison in here, so we can get some muggle equipment. The orbs aren't picking up anything."

"Shit," Harry said lowly. "This is getting ridiculous. We need to _find_ their hideout. So we can put a stop to all this crap."

"We will. But for now, the Auror team we set up for tonight needs to be owled before they come trooping up here and drawing attention to this mess."

Harry looked over. "You don't seemed surprised by any of this, Nora."

She shook her head. "I'm numb to all of it. Otherwise, I'd throw that desk straight down the hall." She did look very angry, even with that controlled expression on her face. Harry had seen her duel - he did not want to be anywhere near her if she decided to explode.

"I need some coffee," Nora sighed, faltering, and left the room.

Kingsley waited until he heard the elevator doors open on the other end of the hall before he spoke. "Something isn't right. The only thing that the orbs are detecting are her presence and your presence. Unless one of us put the mask there and stole the files, No Name is just really that good."

Harry shook his head. His brain was adding things up that he didn't want it to add up. How he and the Death Eaters had managed to know that Hermione and Malfoy were in Bergen and arrive there at the same time; how No Name had even known that they'd had documentation of the mobile phone trace they'd performed on Malfoy's mobile.

They'd been so careful to keep this entire investigation as small as possible to eliminate the possibility of a leak… there were only five people who knew explicit details of the investigation: Jesse Worthington, Kingsley, Ron, Nora, and himself.

No. Harry forced himself to stop thinking like that; internal conflict would only make their efforts weaker. "I guess we'll have to wait to see if the muggles find anything."

* * *

_"Name: Mason Bernard Constable._

_Birth date: April 4th, 1971._

_Death date: January 22nd, 1998._

_Cause: spell damage."_

"Spell damage" is what they put if they can't tell what spell killed you. If you were so torn apart by magic that it is unclear as to which spells were even used.

Nora shook her head and looked over at the leather-bound record book Harry had stolen.

_"Parole degree: guided house arrest._

_Current status: active._

_Release date: September 1st, 1998."_

Yesterday.

"Are we still on for tonight then? Even after what has happened?"

Nora grimaced, putting the death records into the book to mark the page and putting it back into her briefcase. "We have no choice now. It's getting way out of control; at least with Malfoy and Hermione in custody, we could have more time to organize ourselves and make sure we succeed."

Harry nodded and scratched at his old scar briefly.

"Unfortunately, they are probably miles and miles away from the point we traced them at, but it's close enough to warrant a search team. I had Schuster assemble you some Auror gear; it should be in the equipment room. Tell them they are clear to suit up, and I'll register a portkey through Internal Affairs."

"Alright. See you downstairs."

Nora paused. "Wait."

Harry turned back around.

"I… I kind of don't want to leave this floor without someone we trust on it. Can you ask Ronald to stay here and keep an eye out? Keep Jesse company as well. If this turns into a shit-fest, they will only be a portkey away."

Harry swallowed, his face hardening. Ron was not going to like that at all; he'd been unusually excited about being part of the search team. "I'll let him know."

* * *

"Draco! Wake up!"

He opened his eyes, his thrashing movements ceasing. He looked questioningly at Hermione, his brain fuzzy and his stomach sick.

"You were having a bad dream," she said, her voice shaking. Her black eyes looked huge and empty in worry.

He nodded numbly, trying to think about his dream. He could feel it fading slowly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was… she was trying to get into my brain. I was trying not to let her. Potter was there… and there was something about… a prophecy. No, it's gone," he sighed.

"A prophecy? Like the one - " Hermione stopped herself. People weren't supposed to know about that. "Like the ones in the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yes. Though… Master looked livid. I'm guessing it did not help her."

Hermione shivered. She had felt so bad for Harry, knowing that he'd had that prophecy hanging over his head. She did not want to have one hanging over hers.

Draco put his head in his hands. "I was hoping that this wouldn't happen."

Hermione shook her head and reached toward his voice, her hand finding his shoulder. "It was just a nightmare. They happen when you're under stress, as we definitely are."

He nodded, but his eyes remained blank. He new Master better than that - her methods were very distinct. For all they knew, Master was hovering outside of their door.

"Do you remember the setting?"

"We… were in the forest. It looked like the ones in England. And it was kind of light, in a dawn sort of way."

Hermione nodded, trying to decipher the meaning of these things. Despite her disliking for Divination, she definitely saw the charm in dream psychology. "It may be stemming from fears you have."

"I don't fancy prophesies. Or Master, or Potter for that matter."

"and since it was in an English forest - "

"Probably..."

" - maybe you were fearing what would have happened if we had been caught early on?"

Draco's breath stopped. He had thought about that. He would have been just another Death Eater, another criminal to both Hermione and the Ministry. And to the Death Eaters, he was traitorous scum and thus not worth keeping around. And to top it off, he and Hermione would never had realized what could become of them… what could have happened.

It was death any way he looked at it.

"Yes," he answered her. "I want to think that's what it was about."

Hermione attempted to smile reassuringly, and moved closer to him, her hand still on his shoulder. "Since we're awake, why don't we practice. At least then, we won't be so afraid."

He looked at her, wondering if he had ever really appreciated the effect she had on him. Her careful smile instantly lifted him. He looked into her eyes; despite the darkness, they now seemed to sparkle a bit.

"Alright, Goody Gryffindor. Let's see what you've got."

* * *

_Author's note:_ Yes, I actually updated within a two week period! I'm eager to get to the good stuff.

So, a question to the readers... how do you think the story will end? Write what you think in a review. I'm curious to see where you guys think this is going!

There is more fanart pending. Lastly, the song for this chapter is "My Life Inside Your Heart" by Rise Against.


	32. The Beginning is the End

_"A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson_

**Chapter Thirty-two - The Beginning is the End is the Beginning**

"This is exhausting," Draco sighed, shaking his wrist. It was a very precise movement that Hermione was showing him (a sort of exaggerated hand floreo) and his male wrist was not used to such a movement. His brows met in concentration when he felt his muscles begin to complain again.

"It's not my fault that you're pants at Charms," she said rather harshly, knowing that he hadn't taken the class since fifth year. Why people insisted on giving themselves a lighter courseload she would never understand; they were basically cheating themselves out of a good education and more job opportunities.

Besides, why _wouldn't_ you want to learn all you could? Why wouldn't you be interested in gaining the most from your school to help you in the long run?

Draco looked over at her, wondering when she had loosened up around him enough to talk like that. "Well, you're pants at making me feel better about it, aren't you?" he said, giving up and letting his hand fall into his lap. "Besides, it's my turn anyway - "

"Let's think about this more logically," she interrupted, concentration clearly written on her face. "What are we going to _need_ to know?"

"I thought we established that already. Apparently an assortment of nasty charms and hexes, including this ridiculous - "

"It is not ridiculous! It makes the recipient unable to control his hands enough to send another spell at you."

"If that's all it does, then why is the movement so difficult?"

"Because the charm is _very effective_, obviously!"

"You are absolutely insufferable, you know that?" Draco muttered, rubbing some life back into his wrist.

"Yes, thank you for the news flash, anything else to report?"

Draco ignored her cheek and tried to calm down enough to think of a spell. "One you should watch out for is _Incarcerous._ They use it to bind you, and then curse the living piss out of you."

Hermione nodded numbly, knowing that she'd almost let that happen back in Bergen. If it hadn't been for Draco, and for Harry, Jesse, and… and Sasha, who knows what could have happened.

She shook her head to try and clear away her thoughts about the kind woman who had taken them in as if they were family. That kindness had been the only thing really keeping her together during that time, when Draco was so hard to be around. Her agitation was replaced by a sourness in her gut. "Okay. Anything else I should be worried about?"

"Quite a bit. Be wary of any curses that are red. They will most likely burn, or worse, be a Cruciatus - "

"How am I supposed to know what color a curse is?"

Draco wanted to face-palm himself. "Just… for future reference then, I guess."

"Right." Hermione realized that she was probably over-reacting to his lack of gusto over practicing magic to prepare them for their impending confrontation with No Name, but it had been a while since she'd practiced magic. She needed the mental work-out of remembering properties and movements. And though she would never admit it, she also needed the satisfaction that came with correcting someone who was doing it wrong.

It was that "insufferable" quality of her personality - the smugness she adopted when she was reciting information, the glimmer of intelligence behind her eyes as she visibly absorbed a lecture.

It wasn't nearly as satisfying as it should have been however; while she could swear that she didn't get enjoyment out of correcting and teaching Ron, she knew that she enjoyed it more than she should. Draco was different; now that things had changed, she lacked the will to engage in something as trivial as that, knowing how little time they had.

It was why they weren't fighting as much. Had it been other circumstances, they would still be bickering like they always had. There would just be even more kissing to make up for it. They were forcing themselves to simmer down and just enjoy these bleak days, as to not go mad with depression and anger over the real circumstances.

"Do you know any healing magic?"

"A bit," Draco answered tiredly, not at all confident in his ability. "I know enough to get by. You probably know more than I do, obviously."

Now, why did his tone of voice make her cringe? It wasn't as if he was an idiot or something… he was very intelligent, both in common sense and spellwork. She was just more dedicated to studying than he was. Now she felt awful about belittling his abilities. "I doubt it," she murmured. "I didn't learn much healing magic. Truth be told, when Voldemort died, I thought that everything was finally going to be normal. Was I ever wrong."

Draco shrugged. "Progress takes time. Being optimistic isn't a bad thing."

Hermione smiled a bit, her irritation with him dropping completely. "Listen to _you_. I never thought you'd have that opinion about anything."

"I don't," he replied. "I just figured saying that would make you feel better."

Hermione smiled indignantly and reached out to cuff him on whatever surface was available; Draco grinned and ducked out of the way.

* * *

Unfortunately, their practice session was cut short later that night by an unsuspecting muggle couple checking into the room. Draco quickly said, "_Petrificus totalus!_" and gathered their things in the bag, ignoring the frightened eyes that followed him around the room.

Hermione was silent until they were completely packed back into the car, her breathing shallow as she smoothed her hands over her dress. Draco looked up as she muttered a spell suddenly and an apple appeared in her lap.

"Granger?" Draco asked as he shut his own door and placed Loki into the backseat. "I _obliviated_ them, you know. We're still safe."

Hermione shrugged, rubbing circles on the surface of the plump fruit with shaking fingers. "I wasn't worried. I just did not want to leave so soon."

He nodded, though he knew better. It was a rather abrupt end to their relaxation period. Now they had no excuse to not trudge towards their fate. This thought bubbled to the surface of her thoughts, and Draco sensed it in the way she tensed up when he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione," he murmured, brushing a bit of hair behind her ear. She shook her head at him, indicating that he had nothing to worry about, and all but shrugged his hand off.

"I'm fine," she muttered, her eyes shining with a mixture of appreciation and worry. Draco looked into their black depths briefly before nodding and starting up the car. Never had he wished more, in their time together, that she could see the expression on his face.

They had less than a quarter tank of gas left, so they had no choice but to keep driving on the road and walk the remaining distance through the woods; truth be told, Draco was looking forward to walking in the forest again. He could stretch his cramped legs, and even better, get a chance to be close to Hermione again before… things changed. He was unlikely to get an opportunity to walk outside with her after all of this, and even if he did get an opportunity, it would probably not be for a long time.

Hermione settled into the comfort of the seat and the rumbling of the highway underneath them, taking this opportunity to mentally prepare herself for the worst, overcome her fear of Master, and run through the lengthy list of spells, charms, and hexes that she knew, as well as their various properties. Draco looked over occasionally to see that her eyes were closed, and her lips almost imperceptibly murmuring. Her hands drifted up occasionally to imitate a particular wand movement, and Draco watched her some more, trusting the straightening highway to not offer up any surprises.

"You think very quickly," he commented, turning his gaze back to the road in front of them.

"I have to," she replied, her hands still imitating movements. "It's the only way I keep up with the information I take in, and the only way to satisfy myself."

Draco nodded, noting the bookish tone her voice had taken and finding it more endearing than annoying.

Near dawn, Draco found a rest stop and parked, knowing that the car was probably running on fumes. He turned off the engine and sighed, settling back into his seat.

"We're here," Hermione declared, knowing this despite her blindness.

"Yes." Draco got out and retrieved Loki and the bag from the backseat. "I think it will be too dangerous for Loki to come with us."

"It is. Though she is agreeable, we can't risk her getting hurt. I already feel bad about taking her to begin with…" Draco set the bag down and scratched Loki behind the ears. The grey cat purred and lidded her eyes, happy for the sudden attention.

"We can't exactly leave her here. Unless she were to stay with the muggles."

Draco thought for a second, then said, "I'll be back."

He went inside the rest-stop cabin with the cat, leaving Hermione standing by the car. She braced herself against the side of the car to regain a sense of direction; being in an automobile for the majority of a week had taken away a bit of her comfort with being on solid ground.

When Draco returned, he was no longer carrying the cat; instead, he held a piece of muggle note paper that held the address for the rest stop. "She's safe," he sighed, and turned to make sure he had everything out of the car.

Hermione nodded, waiting for him to take ahold of her and steer them towards the downward slope of the forest.

* * *

_Her name is Loki._

_If I'm not back to pick her up within three days, please send her to this address using the money I have given you:_

_Waldemar Estate, Blackpool Street, BATH, 31st W District, BA31 7GR__, GREAT BRITAIN_

_This is of great importance. I trust you._

* * *

Even to an average passerby there were strange things about this forest. Draco knew that forests were partially destroyed by fires all the time, but the burnt wood they began to pass was different. The roots still twisted into the dry earth, and smooth, dark leaves littered the tops of the trees.

A cold sensation settled over them as they walked further in; the stench of dark magic was in the air, along with a sickening stench of great loss.

Hermione hugged her jacket to herself, only slightly comforted by Draco's protective arm around her shoulders. The sickening cold was making her feel increasingly more vulnerable.

They still had another couple hours walk before they reached their destination; surely Master would not be so careless as to leave this much of the forest damaged by her presence?

This told Draco two things:

Master was confident enough to no longer care about pretense and therefore:

Master had something big.

There were still protections up to keep muggles out of this area, but those protections did little against any Ministry officials - or other magical folk - who wanted to search the area. At least Draco didn't sense any wards put up to detect intruders; they weren't close enough to run into those yet. But the forest had definitely not been this damaged four months ago; this part had been completely unchanged when he had made his escape back then.

It seemed so far away now… that entire time felt like so long ago. Like he had lived an entire lifetime since then.

His arm tightened around Hermione's shoulders; she responded by leaning into his body slightly, obviously trying to soak up his warmth.

"Dammit," Hermione muttered suddenly, fingering one of the buttonholes on her jacket.

"What is it?"

Hermione shook her head. "My resolve is weakening, that's all."

"Don't worry about that now," Draco murmured, pulling the duffel further up on his shoulder. "Even if she does invade your mind, we have no valuable information to give her unless you are captured; she needs time to find the information she needs out of you. The only reason to keep her out is to avoid her torture methods."

"Well that's certainly comforting," she retorted, not meaning to sound so cross but unwilling to force herself to be calm about it.

"Just… try not to get cornered. We still don't know what they really want with you, but we must assume the worst."

"_Yes,_ I've thought of that, thank you," she grumbled. She was slightly annoyed that he wasn't taking this as seriously as he should; then again, glossing over the seriousness of something was his usual defense when he was afraid.

Draco smirked a little bit at her annoyance and continued to lead them further into the canadian forest.

By afternoon they'd walked so far down the mountain that Draco could no longer see the road above them; he stopped walking and set down the duffel in the foliage. The forest was getting progressively more dark and dismal, the trees becoming darker and thinner, and now lacking leaves all together. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen an animal scurrying around them.

"I'll have some of the cheese," Hermione said tiredly, plopping down next to the bag.

Draco handed her the box, retrieving a few crackers for himself. He was finally realizing how close they really were. He kept his mind relatively blank as a calming mechanism; if he started freaking out about facing Master now, that would upset Hermione. His voice was quiet as he said, "The general layout is this - there is one physical way in and out, and three fireplaces throughout the house. You can apparate anywhere within the house except for the dinning hall, where prisoners are kept…"

Hermione munched on the cheese, not really tasting it, but instead letting her mouth conjure memories of what the cheese had tasted like yesterday. "How are we going to get No Name alone?"

"We don't have to worry about if she's alone or not; we just need to make sure the alarms haven't been raised, otherwise, every Death Eater out there will come to her aid. I'll knock her out, and you can take care of anyone in the room. You don't need sight as much as you think, Hermione. Once she's been knocked out, we can kill her, or, if it gets complicated, I'll set the forest on fire, and the Ministry will be here in no time to see what's going on. They'll round up the Death Eaters while she's incapacitated. Meanwhile, we can slip into the shadows and make our way out, or use one of the fireplaces."

"I don't know about this anymore," Hermione put forth, finishing off the cheese. "This is all assuming that the Death Eaters won't kill us before we reach her."

"We'll be fine," Draco murmured, fishing out more crackers. "They're a surprisingly unsuspicious lot. The new hideout of theirs has them overconfident."

Hermione fumbled to understand this logic. She had grown to fear Death Eaters quite a bit. Master had forced them to train harder, as she'd heard; they'd be more difficult to duel than before. "One certainly wouldn't just stumble across it, I can imagine."

Draco nodded. "Correct. Of course, it has its disadvantages, especially since the Death Eaters could care less about what goes on in North America, at least for now. The location staying secret was the main priority, at least until things quieted down."

Hermione shrugged, a sick feeling settling into her stomach. She lifted her head. "Draco."

"Yes?" he asked, putting the last bag of crackers in the duffel and vanishing the box.

"Let's… let's not do this. Let's run."

He stopped. "We've come this far," he muttered shortly, zippering the duffel.

"I know. But… we aren't ready. We should have been training the entire way."

Draco scoffed. "You overestimate them. Master has no idea where we are - she thinks we are still in bloody _Norway_. Half of the Death Eaters are probably there, looking for us, and the other half are out working on side projects. There are likely only ten to fifteen still here, and Master never leaves the hideout."

That at least calmed Hermione's nerves. "Okay. That doesn't sound so bad. It could be worse," she said, trying to reassure herself.

Draco's arm wound around her waist and pulled her closer to him. "This is why I wanted to do this: Master is distracted right now. Distracted people make mistakes."

Cold air tightened around them, and Draco hugged her closer. "I knew, going into this, that it was likely to end. But we don't have to see it that way."

Hermione turned her head away. She didn't want to hear that; she wanted to hear that they would be staying on the run longer, and that they'd turn around and settle somewhere in Calgary, or further north.

Her imagination took off, and she suddenly pictured herself walking down a dusty trail, her skin lightly tanned from the sun as she carried a basket of fruit home. A smile she didn't remember she could make lit up her face. They'd be somewhere in Mexico, baking in the dry heat. Or Italy, siting on a porch and watching the sun rise over the horizon. She focused on him, but he was just a man with blond hair sitting beside her, wearing that smell, that taste, that everything that was his mind.

"Hermione?"

She shook her head slowly, focusing on that dream. Does this mean she left her friends behind? Is Master dead? How did they get there? These questions pulled at the edge of her vision, darkening the shadows, and she focused on losing herself in that feeling of happiness, that security of knowing that it could be possible.

He was fluttering outside of her mind, and was feeling an emotion she had never felt from him before.

She let go of the vision to let him in.

Suddenly, the air around them got so thick with dark magic that they could scarcely breathe. It was forcing them apart, forming a mud-like partition between the two of them.

Draco knew what this was; he had known as soon as her eyes had closed. It was the same kind of magic had tried to slow him down when he had escaped the first time. He pulled Hermione to him and shook her to wake her up. "Hermione, wake up! You have to focus, or they'll have you!"

Unfortunately, she had not been trained against something like this as he had. "What's happening?" she asked, drearily attempting to curl against his chest. The cold magic wrenched her sharply out of Draco's grip, and he watched in horror as her eyes opened horribly wide. His wand was out, but in that instant, the incantation he wanted to speak wouldn't come out.

She gasped as something pulled her, backward, through the trees by her gut. Her screams lit up the forest briefly before they ceased.

"HERMIONE!" Draco shouted, reaching after her retreating form, but it was too late; he could not even see her. Instead, dark shapes filled the edges of his vision, and he could feel the fluttering of his mental curtains as at least three Death Eaters tried to access his mind. The alarms had definitely been raised; Draco could hear a high pitched keening in the air, though he was unsure if it was around him or in his own mind.

"Fuckers!" he shouted, his wand buzzing with the sudden amount of emotion being pushed through it. He took a step towards the figures, but instead of engaging him, the shapes moved away.

He was shaking, waves of fear and hatred washing over him and chilling his core. The only thought that pervaded his mind was a distant, familiar chuckle.

"_I'm going to kill you!_" he shouted again, and the chuckling died out. He ran towards where Hermione was pulled, thinking desperately of what he was going to do.

As he ran, a single memory suddenly caught his attention; a memory of when he was at school and in trouble. He came upon a clearing and pointed at the sky.

Red sparks shot out of his wand like fire works, sailing hundreds of feet into the air before exploding across the sky. He then pointed into the distance.

"_Morsmordre!_"

* * *

_Author's note_: Sorry about that wait. I've been rewriting this story, and haven't gotten a chance to actually finish this chapter until recently. Changes in the other chapters will be up gradually.


	33. The End is the Beginning

_"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
__That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
__And then is heard no more. It is a tale  
__Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
__signifying nothing."  
__- Macbeth__, William Shakespeare_

**Chapter Thirty-three: The End is the Beginning is the End**

"Nora!" Harry said, and pointed to the east.

Nora looked toward where Harry was pointing; the sky had briefly lit up with red light. "Oh my," Nora said, releasing the handle of her broom.

"That's a Hogwarts charm, Nora," Harry said urgently. "Students use it when they need a teacher!"

"I remember," Kingsley put forth. "And what's more, look at that."

The group looked again, watching as the Dark Mark twisted the clouds unnaturally in the distance. A few of the Aurors with them noticeably shivered.

"And that's why we are happy to have you with us, Harry. Let's get over there before the rest of the department comes to investigate the Mark. Kingsley, you're in charge now; I'll take Harry and Shalvin to investigate and send a patronus when we're ready. If no patronus comes by the time the Ministry arrives, assume the worst."

"I'll get Jesse over here as well."

Nora nodded sharply. "Never have I been happier that you turned down the Minister position. We're going to need your expertise on this one."

* * *

Hermione awoke to the metallic smell of blood and the damp smell of old wood. She didn't move, realizing almost immediately that she had been knocked out and was probably captured.

"Pretense doesn't suit you," a voice said.

Hermione acknowledged the comment cooly and leaned against what felt like bars, her heart beginning to speed up.

"Remind me to thank dear Draco for bringing you to me; none of this would have been possible without him. He shall be greatly rewarded."

Hermione's cool mask shattered immediately. "Shut up about Draco!" she sputtered.

Master No Name's expression reached all the way up to her eyes, as if she was genuinely concerned. She tutted. "I hadn't realized how badly he'd fooled you."

"He's fooled no one but you, hag," Hermione shot back.

Master chuckled and shook her head. "How quickly you forget your past…" images from Hermione's past encounters with Draco began to fill her vision, "… and how quickly you forget his true nature." The images stopped with the last time she had seen him at school - he'd had the gall to insult them even as they saved his life, the Room of Requirement burning in the background.

A flicker of doubt crept into Hermione's expression; it was all Master needed. "He's manipulative, you know that. Don't pretend like you did not see this coming, Hermione."

"Don't… shut up."

Master got up and walked right over to where Hermione was sitting and laid a hand upon the cold steel of a bar. "To think, everyone named you when they thought of smart, cultured muggleborns. _You_. You let _Draco Malfoy_ fool you into thinking that you'd be safe if you two killed me yourselves. I didn't see _you_ dueling the Dark Lord in the end. You had Potter for that."

"_That's ridiculous!_" Hermione shouted, causing Master to recoil slightly in order to protect her hearing; Hermione's voice filled the large room and echoed down the hall. "There was a prophecy. What am I to do, single-handedly fight all the world's villains? I figured I could do my part in taking _you_ down, whether I succeeded or not!"

"Looks like you failed, honey," Master smirked. "Failed quite miserably. Now are you going to shut up long enough to do some reading?"

Hermione stopped, the thought of books and parchment and their comfort to her invading her senses. Her expression visibly hardened. "Do I look fit to read a damn thing?"

Master's smirk deepened. "Oh, of course, I apologize. I had forgotten how handicapped you were." Her eyes lit up at Hermione's indignant gasp. "I'll read it _to you,_ then. Or we can wait until after the experiment, whichever you prefer."

"Experiment? What are you experimenting on, how many people's lives you can destroy?"

"You'll like this one," Master said, ignoring Hermione's jab. "I've been told you have a nose for academia. Research is in your bones." She turned and strode over to the desk. "I've been waiting quite a long time for you. Too long. So we'll be getting started immediately."

Master retrieved a stack of parchment and opened the cabinet next to the desk. Some sort of wooden contraption floated out, covered in leather straps, nails, metal bars, and plastic tubing. Hermione listened to the creaking and groaning of the contraption, wondering what in the world she was in for.

* * *

Draco ran, knowing that Master liked to waste no time once she got a new toy to play with. He could feel her "watching" him as he charged through the foliage, burnt leaves and branches crunching under his feet.

He tried to keep a clear head, but it was difficult, what with the way his heart wanted to spasm and how his throat wanted to tighten at the thought of what they were doing to her in there.

Why did he always have to learn this lesson?

Sure, it was easy to think he didn't _need_ anyone when it came down to it. But that wasn't the case anymore.

He came upon a large tree in a clearing, reaching way up to the clouds above him; he did not hesitate, rushing immediately to the thing. His Dark Mark began to burn, and he pressed the skin against the tree's bark, looking around anxiously and wondering if the Ministry was on their way yet. It didn't matter if they caught him now, if anyone caught him now. All that mattered was Hermione's safety.

A door appeared, barely discernible from the surrounding bark, and Draco turned a nob on the tree that acted as the doorknob and stepped inside.

He was stupid, he realized. For thinking that they could do this.

_Of course we can't. The very reason I thought we could… is the reason why we can't. Two people against the world? It only took the whim of one woman to foil this._

Draco's wand was out; the time for subtlety and sneaking around had passed. He stomped down the stairs and threw open the door in front of him, ignoring the grandeur of the foyer he had stepped into. He raised his wand.

"_Where is Hermione?_"

Master was waiting for him, as he knew she would be. What surprised him, however, was that she was alone. "Now now, Draco. Be polite," she tutted.

"_Incarcerous!"_ Ropes formed and tightened around Master's slim form, framing the contours of her body, and winding around her neck.

She shook her head at him chidingly, but her eyes were angry. "At least buy me _dinner_ first," she said shortly, and the ropes evaporated.

"SHUT IT! TELL ME WHERE YOU HAVE HER…" Master's words clicked in his brain. "She's in the dining hall, isn't she?" Draco started forward, intending on going around her.

She raised her wand, and Draco promptly fell, his feet bound to the floor.

"Not so fast, Malfoy," she said, turning to pick up her glass of wine from the ornate pedestal to her left. "I've got some questions for you."

Draco muttered the countercurse for the spell and jumped to his feet, his face twisted in an ugly scowl. "I SWEAR, If you've harmed a single hair on her head, I'm going to curse you into a bloody pulp!"

Master rolled her eyes and put the glass down. "Not now, Draco. We have much to discuss."

"W-What? Fuck that," Draco went to the door and tried the handle; it was locked. He cursed loudly as the golden handle burned his hand.

"I always wondered how you managed to escape the first time," No Name commented, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Seeing as you can't keep it together enough to get passed a locked door, I doubt you did it without a little help."

Draco turned, his eyes murderous.

There was yelling from the other side of the door; hopefully it was Hermione giving some Death Eaters a hard time. Draco's mood lightened.

"I asked you a question." Master sat in the leather armchair and straightened the edge of her dress.

Draco smirked darkly and relaxed. He knew how to open the door; he just couldn't concentrate enough to do it because of Master's infuriating comments. "You really need to see about the poor lighting in this place. It was all too easy to slip into the shadows."

"Well, yes," she said, shaking her head, "but I meant getting past the wards on the cell door."

"The corner by one side of the bars isn't warded, since whoever put them up stood _inside_ the cell to put up the wards and needed a way to get out."

"Ah. Unfortunately, standing _outside_ the cell when putting up the wards defeats the purpose of the cell. It just keeps people out, not in." She paused. "You hear that, Nora? You should have your people down in Spell Development work on that. I bet that'd do wonders for catching criminals or something."

"Don't talk to me."

No Name shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth; Draco whipped around and blanched as Harry Potter and a woman he supposed was Nora came into the light. Another wizard, probably an Auror, had his wand trained on him. The tension in the room increased as Draco eyed Harry warily. Harry however stared directly at Master No Name, once again startled by not only the woman's attire, but also her face - she was the spitting image of Nora Constable. "Nora... " he gasped.

"Always a lonely problem drinker, I see," Nora said, nodding at the wine on the table.

"Always a bloody _killjoy_, I see," Master retorted, standing up. She smiled as they noticeably started. "Shall I leave you lot to talk?"

Nora's expression darkened exponentially. "I don't think so, _Mason._" Nora raised her wand, and Master pouted as her feet locked to the floor. Her own wand give a small flick, and Nora's wand leapt away and clattered against the marble tiles.

"Don't be rude," she said, eying the bottle of wine on the table for a second, as if contemplating making the other woman a glass, or perhaps wondering if she really was a lonely problem drinker. "Let's have a chat."

Harry looked over at Nora briefly, still startled by the resemblance between them. Master looked like a slightly malnourished version of Nora, with longer hair and wider eyes. "Mason? That's a strange name for a woman..."

Nora looked at her wand on the floor, not seeming fazed at all by the fact that her weapon was not within reaching distance. The wand twitched, and then rose gently until it landed in her palm. "Mason isn't a girl, smart'un," she said, twirling the wand, "No Name is my fucking brother - Mason."

Harry looked over at Master No Name to get confirmation of this; Master's expression hadn't changed. She was still smiling at the lot of them, her eyes malicious.

"You're just angry about how much trouble I've been."

"No," Nora said, shaking her head slowly. "I'm mad because my own fucking brother is involved in something as serious as this. I'm mad because I had _no idea_ that you were still alive. I'm mad because I spent the longest time - "

"Well, I'm here now, so pipe down."

"_Not the point, Mason._"

"This is weird," Harry said uncertainly. "Are you sure that's him? I thought your brother was killed by…" He looked over at Master, his confident anger returning. "You faked your own death to create an image for your alter-ego?"

Nora nodded. "And something told me to check to make sure you were actually dead in the only other way I knew how - records controlled by magic."

Harry thought back to the book he had retrieved from the Archives.

"I looked at your parole record to see if the magic binding you to this area was still in place. It was. If you were really dead, then the magic would have automatically expired before the release date.

"And to top it off, the release date was the day before my office was broken into. Of course you would test out your new freedom by trying to mess up everything for me and the Ministry."

"Of course," Master confirmed.

"I bet getting around the wards on my office was simple enough, seeing as we are twins, hmm? Spell Development will have to look into that. You could have easily passed as me at a glance, so long as you didn't have that creepy look on your face. And _then_ you would probably have had the nerve to impersonate me regularly so that everyone suspected me as being 'Master No Name,' putting your cronies on _my _Ministry floor to fuel the lies. Unbelievable, the lengths you'd go to to fuck with me."

"Sis, you really should take some anger management courses," Master commented lightly.

"So was that the plan then? When you realized that you couldn't just kill me off and take my place, you were going to ruin my career and possibly put me in Azkaban? To think, I was against our mother disowning you. Now I see why she did it."

"Don't," Master said suddenly, her face darkening as much as Nora's. "That wench knows nothing. Literally."

Nora crossed her arms. "I can't wait to tell her that she had been right all these years."

There was a tense silence; Harry watched Master's face contort into almost demon-like features. He suddenly wanted to just back out of the room and take off as fast as he could; was Nora insane enough to bait the other woman?

"You cannot imagine the immensity of the _fuck_ I do not give."

"And so the person I dueled back in Bergen wasn't you, was it? An impostor. Where did you find such an idiot?"

Master's expression lightened. "Animated corpse. I'm quite gifted, as you know."

"So that's what the smell was," Nora quirked her head to the side. "In any case, I suggest you give up your plot now, before I have the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement take you down."

"I'm not scared of a few Aurors," Master said, picking up her wine glass once again. She took as sip and set it back down. "Besides, I've done great work here. Whether you kill me or not, my work lives on."

"What 'work'? The only work you've done is screw up people's lives, especially Hermione's. And the Worthingtons' as well."

"Have you been paying _any_ attention? I've isolated the magical gene. I've discovered the one thing that will save the wizard race from having to hide from muggles for the rest of eternity."

Harry nodded knowingly. "I knew it'd have to be something like that, considering what your cronies stole from the Department of Mysteries."

"Yes. I've made probably the most valuable contribution to the magical world in all of history. Nothing that happens now will rewrite what has been written, nor change what has occurred here. No matter what happens, the Ministry will be forced to look at my findings. Since Hermione Granger had to ruin my _original_ plan, and you had to ruin my alternative, we are going through with the back-up plan. Whether I die here tonight, or you capture my Death Eaters, there will be debate over my work. It will be a debate as old as the wizarding race, as old as time itself."

Nora snorted, startling Shalvin slightly; Harry was getting antsy, wondering where the rest of the Death Eaters were and slowly realizing that Master was stalling.

"What do we do with a knowledge that can change lives forever? Will the Ministry choose to hide it away, sweep it into a corner? Or will it be voted on, implemented, voted on again, discussed, and shot down for eternity? Will the Ministry approve the plan straight away, and we can all live in peace and harmony, giving _all_ humans the strength and the tools they need to advance even further? It's up to that codger of a Minister you lot put in there, and it's up to you. But no matter what happens, it's _my_ great work. And everyone will know that the _smart and wonderful_ Nora Constable's insane, transsexual and Death Eater brother came up with all of it."

So there it was. In the end, the only thing she was really after was recognition. Recognition of skill, of talent, of hard work. Of anything.

This was the core of a lot of people, even of Nora herself.

Nora's expression softened briefly before hardening again into amused contempt. "Why are you so desperate for attention?"

"The world is made up of attention-seeking whores. I'm just smarter than the rest," Master replied, visibly irritated with the obvious shoot-down of her lecture.

"Right, well, I think we're done here," Harry said. "I'll call in the Aurors."

"Shut the hell up, Potter, before I eat your soul," No Name said dismissively, smiling her frightening smile at her own joke. Harry did not dare think that she wouldn't eat his soul. He knew better.

"Too late!" Nora twirled her wand, sending a silvery patronus thundering towards the door. Master No Name watched it go, looking not in the least bit worried.

"So what of the prophecy your lot stole? What place does _that_ have in any of this?"

Master sighed, turning away. "Just me being hopeful. I just wanted to know how this would end."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "How did your men even steal it? It's impossible to remove them - "

"No it isn't. The prophecy _did_ concern the one who removed it, and besides, how do you think they get there in the first place?"

"Once again," Nora said, twirling her wand, "I wondered. But you're resourceful. I remember that."

There was a loud bang from the other room, and an earsplitting scream; everyone turned to look, but Draco was already at work on the door, having stepped over to it unnoticed as Nora and Master talked. It burst open, and he shook his hand, willing it to stop burning.

Death Eaters flooded in, and Draco sidestepped against the wall to remain unseen to them as they charged through the door.

The first curse flew from behind them, and a few dropped, hit with Draco's Stunning spell; they were still running forward to get a good position on the others in the room, so none turned to look where the curse had come from. Draco left without another word, leaving Harry, Nora, and Shalvin to deal with the mess.

"MALFOY! GET BACK HERE AND HELP US!"

"You'll be fine," Draco muttered, and found his way to the center of the dining hall.

More Death Eaters; this certainly explained why Master was so calm about everything; since she had captured Hermione, she had probably thought to alert the rest of the Death Eaters that the location had been compromised and they needed to come home and fight. This was one of the oldest codes they followed - protect the leader at all costs.

More voices sounded behind him - he was right, Potter would be fine - and flashes of light in front of him. Draco dodged a nasty looking red hex and pointed his wand.

"_Crucio!_" The spell barely missed the tallest Death Eater, hitting a vase behind him instead and shattering it. He jumped behind one of the chairs and conjured a dark curtain around the table so he could free Hermione. He was not prepared, however, for the sight he was about to see.

Draco looked up, and the color drained from his face.

* * *

_Author's notes:_ The song for this chapter is "Last Battle" by MOKA (Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time Last Battle Remix)

Be sure to drop me a comment if you like the story! I always get back to anyone who has questions.


	34. Stained Glass and Marble

_"A man has only one escape from his old self: to see a different self in the mirror of some woman's eyes." ~ Clare Boothe Luce_

**Chapter Thirty-four: Stained Glass and Marble**

Draco stood up immediately to untie the bounds from Hermione's wrists. He supposed it wouldn't have been as bad if she had been knocked out, or looking very frightened. Instead, she blinked her black eyes, appearing to be dead to the world. He looked up; the skin of her back was stretched unnaturally upwards by two large hooks. Unsure of how to withdraw the hooks from her flesh, he shot the rope holding the hooks to the machine with Stunning spells and she fell into his arms.

_:Hermione?:_

She didn't feel right; her aura was grey and dull. He took a hand in his and rubbed it between gritty fingers. She did not squeeze back.

It was one of Master's machines that she was bound to; Draco pointedly ignored the wood, tubes, and straps behind her. He didn't need to wonder what it was or what it was for - he didn't care enough. Hermione was all that mattered; the Healers would worry about the machine.

Her soul was a quivering child in the corner of her body; Draco forced them to the ground as a spell narrowly missed Hermione, burning right through a bit of her bushy hair. She groaned, and he realized immediately that her pelvis was on two different planes.

"MALFOY!"

Draco was thrown back away from her, leaving her blinking in confusion by the edge of the dining table.

He looked over; Rubinoff was staring down at him. He looked over at Hermione and raised his wand.

"No!" Draco yelled, and sent a full body bind at him.

He cursed as he realized he had been hit with the strength sucking curse; he fought it and rose to his feet, noting the blood trickling down his arm. The pain didn't hit him until a few seconds later, and he fell to his knees.

Jesse brushed by him, slashing through two Death Eaters and kicking one of them to the floor before rushing to Hermione's side.

He barely had time to register this before he blacked out.

* * *

No one was telling her anything about the battle.

She just had sounds that she remembered hearing, smells of smoke and yells. And Draco's fingers rubbing life back into her hands.

She remembered the pain though. Master jabbing a large needle into her arm, in the wrong spot on purpose, just so she would have to do it again; the leather tightening around her wrists and her hips as the woman went on about her research, speaking in terms so scientific even Hermione couldn't keep up with her; not knowing where she was going to get hit next, or why a particular memory was in front of her vision…

She shook her head. She did not want to dwell on it; one thing she had definitely learned throughout her life is that painful things needed to be understood and then cast away. There was no reason for her to think about what had already happened.

It was like a Cruciatus. Painful when it happens, with intense after shock and after effects… but it isn't happening now. And the sooner you realize that, the sooner you get over it all.

St. Mungo's wasn't much better. She awoke and was asleep again, delirious with exhaustion and potions. The Ministry was going to be all over her, asking her about Master, the machine, and Draco, and she just wanted to sleep. She could hear their voices, all the time, but could not ever make out what they were saying.

She knew Harry had been in her room frequently. And Ginny, and Luna, and Kingsley. She recognized their voices.

Ron wasn't there so much. In fact, she was starting to forget the sound of his voice; the times she did hear it, she recognized that it had lost its familiar undertone of sarcasm and playfulness, and fell at odd times.

When they released her, she could see again. She had opened her eyes one morning and had been struck with the sight of familiar faces looming over her. Everything was grayer than she remembered, as if the world had fallen into a deep depression, despite the smiling faces above her.

"Where's Draco?" she had asked tiredly, and all the smiles dropped.

"He's asleep," Nora answered, eying Harry disapprovingly. "His arm is still broken."

Hermione shook her head, knowing that any Healer in that building could heal a broken arm in two seconds. Unless it had broken through the skin, Draco was probably in prison already.

"You haven't locked him up yet, have you?"

Nora shook her head, knowing that everyone else standing there would have commented about how much they wished he was locked up. Hermione did not need to hear that right now.

Hermione sat up a bit, fire returning to her eyes. "The law does not give equal health permitance to Death Eaters and their associates. Unless the laws have changed, he is in Azkaban already. So don't try to hide it from me."

Nora shook her head, obviously impressed by Hermione's ability to be articulate and forceful after being drugged for so long. "St. Mungo's is neutral territory. I convinced the Minister to grant him special rights, considering his part in the destruction of the Death Eaters - "

"So we won, then?" Hermione chirped.

Nora sighed. "Sort of. We got most of them, but Mason escaped with a few. They have no real power anymore."

No, they did still have power. As long as they were alive and somewhere in the world, they always would have power. Master would continue her work elsewhere.

"Every Ministry department wants to get their hands on her research. We've had to station dementors and Aurors around the hideout to make sure that no one goes in and takes it. That's all I can tell you about it though."

She nodded. So they weren't going to let her in on anything then; they weren't going to let her help. She looked over at Harry, knowing that he would be privy to all the information that she wasn't allowed to be. He shook his head, indicating that he couldn't tell her.

"When do I get to leave? I need to start doing my own research."

The group eyed her questioningly. "Research?"

"On wizarding law. To help Draco's case."

A few of the people in the room bristled.

"We'll discuss that later, Hermione. For now, I'll call in the Healer for the rest of your potions, and try to get you out of here as soon as possible."

She closed her eyes. It was going to be harder than she thought.

As soon as she got out of St. Mungo's, she went directly to the Ministry of Magic, ignoring the stares she got as she came in through the visitors entrance, the telephone booth doors opening to a crowd of clapping and cheering people, as well as a lot of whispering. Before her little escapade, she had been working with both _The Daily Prophet_ and the Department of International Magical Cooperation. She was supposed to be the one giving the Ministry ideas about how to return the magical world to normal, or better, make it less racist than before the Dark Lord.

"I need to see Richard," Hermione told the secretary without preamble, despite that she had become good friends with the girl. The secretary's face lit up briefly before she processed Hermione's request.

"The boss?"

"Yes, Helen. It's good to see you."

Helen nodded, at a loss for words, and went to retrieve the head of the department.

Hermione watched her go, already formulating her plan of attack in her mind.

* * *

Draco shifted on the infirmary bed, wincing when pain shot through his arm. It had been over a week since he'd seen her; the Ministry kept a close watch on him and in no way wanted them to be near each other now that things had calmed down.

Unfortunately, being away from her for what seemed like forever just made Draco especially irritable and depressed. Harry and Ron were no help at all, and Nora's efforts to get Hermione visitation permission had been futile thus far, even though the Minister was allowing him to stay at St. Mungo's.

It also didn't help that Ron spent his time away from work as Draco's watchguard, as directed by Kingsley.

"You've weakened her," Ron muttered, his eyes scanning his newspaper. "Our Hermione was strong willed, defiant, and ready for a challenge. Now she just seems tired and angry all the time."

Draco's throat tightened; Weasley really knew how to make him feel like shite. Hermione had been hurt that night in a way Ron could not understand; Draco did not want to be blamed for it. "You don't know what you're talking about, Weasley."

"Do I?" he asked, looking up at Draco through angry eyes. "Harry and I have been her best friends since _first year_. You've only even been civil to her for a few months. What could you _possibly_ know about our Hermione?"

Draco fought to keep control of his voice. "She's not _your_ Hermione. She is herself."

Ron shook his head. "In any case, she's not yours_._"

"I never said she was!"

Ron ignored him and went back to reading his _Prophet_, leaving Draco to fume in the silence.

Suddenly his eyes grew wide. "Are they mad? You can't report something like that so soon!"

"What's going on, Ron?" Harry asked, coming back from behind the curtain with Draco's meds.

"Take a look at this article!"

Harry set Draco's potions on the table and took up the newspaper, moving aside as the Healer came in and began uncorking the tops of them.

"What is it, Potter?" Draco asked, ignoring the Healer as he began to inspect Draco's arm.

Harry shook his head. "Pricks. They're saying that the rest of the Death Eaters have been caught, which is definitely not true. Oh, there is even a snippet about you in here, Malfoy."

Draco grimaced. He and _The Daily Prophet_ had not always gotten along, as it were. "Are they saying I'm a good for nothing Death Eater and a disgrace to the wizarding world? That's nothing new."

Harry looked over at Draco, sobered by his tone. "No. You're just mentioned in passing as one of our outfit."

Draco looked down, allowing his arm to be lifted and redressed. Somehow it seemed as though this was worse. Instead of blasting him apart, or better, commenting on his part in the destruction of the Death Eaters, it seemed like the Ministry wanted to just bury him completely. Surely they wouldn't pass up an opportunity to make an example out of him?

"Don't worry; as soon as your trial starts, they'll have a full page of editorials on the matter."

Draco shrugged, biting back a wince as his arm throbbed again. "Where's Hermione anyway?"

He actually shrunk back as both Harry and Ron shot him a glare so hateful it could have burned a hole straight through him. "Nevermind," he muttered quickly, looking away.

* * *

_Author's notes:_ I encourage everyone to go to the Dramione Awards livejournal and take a look at all the nominees for this past round. There were some really good ones nominated, and the Special Challenge ficlets are especially enjoyable. Voting has closed, but you can still view the stories.

I'm sorry about the wait for this chapter... college has been a little crazy and I got an internship, so I haven't had as much time as I needed to make a timely update.

The song for this chapter is "Chin Up" by Copeland.


	35. Time is Now

_"When we killed what we were to become what we are, what did we do with the bodies? We did what most people do; buried them under the floorboards and got used to the smell." - Jeanette Winterson, Gut Symmetries_

**Chapter Thirty-five: Time Is Now**

It looked just like the forest. She knew this even though she hadn't been able to see it.

Hermione had done her research well. The plants that filled every corner of her flat were ones indigenous to certain regions of England and Norway, even Sweden. There were shrubberies here that the gardener had raised his eyebrows at her request for. Certainly no one would pay money for _that_ ugly old plant, that plant that did nothing for the advancement of someone's garden.

Hermione had shaken her head and said, "It matters to me. Plant it."

And so her flat had turned into a greenhouse.

It was the only way she could study now.

The Archives didn't do the same for her; she could no longer focus in stiff, tight air. She needed the smell of the old parchment mixed with the fresh rank of greenery and dirt.

Unfortunately, no matter how much color she surrounded herself with, colors were still off. Everything was still grey, even the plants. She knew that her clothes were ridiculously bright and probably didn't match; she knew that her apartment was intrusive and distinctly reflected a strange obsession. But she needed it.

Research was the thing she had always been best at; if she couldn't get to the bottom of something, no one could, and if she couldn't get to the bottom of _this_, no one would.

After the first rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, laws changed. "Death Eater" became synonymous with murderer, and the Ministry did all it could to lock people away. There was so much confusion that is was hard to do the job right; there were still so many people under the Imperius curse, so many people who were blackmailed into joining, and they had to somehow be separated from the true believers and supporters. Unfortunately, that had proved to be too difficult. Too time consuming and too messy.

So all the Death Eaters went away, guilty until proven innocent. And if you were still alive after everything, after the Death Eaters went after you for creating laws against them, you stuck with what you created.

And that hadn't changed. People were so sick of the Dark Lord and so glad that he was finally gone, no one had noticed that the wizarding world now had time to sort through the mess. No one in power wanted to propose this change for fear of being called a supporter of the other side, even though the muggleborn prosecution laws were slowly changing.

So while the muggleborn prosecution pamphlets and books were burning, innocent Death Eaters sat in Azkaban. Hermione hadn't seen it until now.

Draco was going to be one of those.

He was actually lucky he was getting a trial; according to Wizard Law, Death Eaters are only given a trial if they had information to offer.

As she read on, she discovered how much the legal system really needed to be updated. The magical world in general was far more unorganized and informal than the muggle world, and this especially applied to the legal system. The court system was outdated, the laws draconian in nature, and any updates were mere bandages over the broken bones. Even finding a collective of all wizarding laws was difficult, and she had at least thirty tomes next to her desk, full of handwritten notes, missing and added pages, and references to other books.

It was a wonder that anything got done at all.

It seemed that the Wizengamot relied on their own knowledge of the law, or what they thought should be the law, and they were too powerful to procure any questions about it. In fact, Harry was lucky he hadn't gone to Azkaban before his fifth year. It was certainly possible.

Along with the books was the memories - the Archives had an entire section of Record Keeper memories. The Record Keeper was the wizard stenographer, a neutral person selected to record the memory of a trial. This memory was then filed away into the Archives for research purposes. The only people who seemed interested in the Record Keeper memories was old family members and people who wished to become attorneys. Hermione was a strange face to the Record Keeper office. The old woman who kept the memories looked at her suspiciously over broad-rimmed glasses and wrinkled cheeks. The box of vials containing the memories Hermione had asked for floated over to her slowly.

"Hermione? You've been in there for three days. Come to lunch with me!"

She ignored Harry's knocks on her door, immersed in her reading. She had a pensieve at her elbow, glimmering with the memory of an old Death Eater trial.

"I know you are almost out of potion. I brought your refill from St. Mungo's."

"Thanks," she called, turning a page.

"Malfoy was released today. He's in a holding cell."

Hermione stopped and looked up.

"… There was nothing Nora could do. She kept him at St. Mungo's as long as she could."

"Can he have visitors?"

Harry leaned against the door. "Can you come with me to lunch so we can talk about it?"

Hermione sighed and dropped her quill. Why she had been avoiding everyone she didn't know. She was certainly happy to see everyone and eager to catch up, but because of Draco's situation… she felt like being alone.

"Doing this to yourself won't solve anything Hermione. You _always_ do this when you want to talk to someone."

Yes, she did have a habit of burying herself in academia whenever something was bothering her. It was how she coped with problems. Hermione ran a hand over her braid and stood, stretching her aching muscles and strained back. A few steps later her front door opened.

Harry was grinning. "Hi."

"Hi." She leaned against the door frame, indicating that he could come in. He sidestepped her slanted form into the foyer.

"Wow. Taken up a little garden-keeping?"

Hermione shrugged, a gesture she usually never appreciated as an answer to a question, and turned into the kitchen.

"It's like a greenhouse in here." Harry eyed her over a particularly large plant as she ran the tap over two teacups. "Oh no, Hermione. We're going out. Get your cloak."

She shook her head. "That's not going to happen. I'm not leaving until I have a case."

"That's not your job. A defense attorney has been chosen already. He and the prosecutor are picking the jury tomorrow, and the trial should start next week."

Hermione did not appear to have heard him. She set a pot over the stove and turned on the heat.

He tried again. "Only people with certifications can represent someone in a trial of this magnitude. Surely you know that. Studying like mad isn't going to get you that in a week." Harry walked around the plant to face her properly. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Because I have to, Harry. Because I'm all he's got!" she shouted, turning towards him. "He hasn't got anyone to defend him anymore. No daddy, no nothing. He hasn't even got _himself._ You should know how that feels."

Hermione faced the heating pot again, her nails drumming against the counter. "I've got to do something. Anything I can."

Harry struggled with something to say, but settled for silence as the water began to boil. Hermione poured it into their cups with quick movements.

"If he's that important to you - "

Her voice was low and dangerous. "He _is_, Harry. That's right. We're together. He's my _boyfriend_. That's what you do when your boyfriend needs help. You help him."

Harry shook his head slowly. "I'm trying to be reasonable here, but _really_, it's Malfoy we're talking about - "

"I realize that, obviously."

Harry stopped. "Don't get defensive. You know what I mean."

She nodded, staring into her tea as if it might tell her something, as if it might give her some symbol to decipher.

"You're so angry now. Our Hermione wasn't like that."

"Stop it!" she cried, turning away. "Stop blaming him! I'm like this because I'm worried. Can't you all see that? It's not his fault! It's just…" she looked back at him, searching for the sympathy she wanted in his expression. "He's going to Azkaban, Harry! He's going to Azkaban and I'm trying to do something about it!"

Her cup clattered against the counter, its contents sloshing over the edge and down the wooden cabinets. Harry reached for her and drew her shaking form into an embrace. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry. We're going to fix this, I promise. Everything's going to work out."

If only he could believe that himself.

* * *

"So here is what's going to happen: tomorrow we are picking jury. I'm thinking we should concentrate on getting parents on there, and anyone with family members who were found to be under the Imperius. They might have sympathy for Draco's situation. Prosecution is likely to go for hardcore Ministry workers, old Order members, and probably some muggleborns. Ones who aren't going to buy into a 'poor-little-rich-boy' story. I'm going on gut instinct with these people. It's all about asking the right questions."

Draco looked down at the table disinterestedly, twisting a piece of ribbon in his hands. He looked over at the document from which he had removed the ribbon - a letter from his mother - and looked away again.

Nora eyed him sympathetically. "That sounds good, Gerard. I'll have those memories for you to go over in the morning. Also, here is a copy of the Malfoy family tree. The one you have is old."

"Ah, thanks. Wait, are we finished? We still need to go over the prosecution's argument."

Shaking her head, Nora stood and walked over to him. "Draco's had enough for today, I think. He needs to look a little lively for tomorrow."

Gerard raised an eyebrow at Draco, who said nothing, but cleared his throat and nodded anyway. "Okay then. See you lot tomorrow."

Nora stared openly at Draco for a good minute, taking in his expression, his posture, and his fidgeting hands.

"Did you have something to say, Constable?" he commented.

"I'm trying to get you visitors. It takes time."

"Peachy."

"She's been locked away in her flat for days, you know, doing god knows what. All the wizard law books are missing from the Archives." Nora held up a small paperback book entitled _Death Eaters: Crime and Punishment._ "This I got at Flourish and Blotts. Half price."

He twisted the ribbon in his fingers some more, winding the dark green material around his hand. Hermione was like that - when the going got tough, the tough hit the books. His mood lightened a little at the thought of her bent over some ancient tome, a quill behind her ear and her fringe in her eyes.

"She hasn't been talking to anyone. Not even Harry. I sent him over there today to get her out of her flat for a bit. You'd think you guys never came back."

Draco didn't know what to make of that. Hermione would have wanted to spend time with her friends, the friends she hadn't seen in months. "And they blame me, of course."

"Of course. How can they not? You're easy to blame; you've gotten yourself into quite a mess."

There was a knock on the door, and Ron Weasley stepped in. "You wanted to see me, Nora?"

"Yes. Do you have those notes I asked for?"

"What is he doing here?" Draco grumbled, his head in his hands.

Ron gave him a sneer reminiscent of Draco's Hogwarts days. "I'm helping."

Draco shook his head, his stomach further tying into knots.

Nora looked between them, making sure they weren't about to start arguing, before she continued. "So along with the official thank you statement from the Minister, we also have Neville's consent to be a witness. That's what Ron is doing - getting people to agree to go on the stand. You can imagine how much of a personal risk it is to anyone to defend you."

Draco snorted without humor.

"Not to mention that the prosecutor is a bitch. She's known for turning defense witnesses against themselves. So we have to chose wisely."

"I don't know how great of a choice Longbottom is, then."

Ron eyed him. "He's all you've got right now. So deal with it. You don't have a lot of friends."

Draco's jaw clenched, and the poor ribbon crumpled into a ball in his fist.

"Quiet, Ronald. That's not helping us."

"What do you want from me, Weasley? I've done what I could, I've tried to make up for my ugly past."

"You can go under a rock and die, is what you can do!"

Draco bit down the easy retort (having something to do with the Weasley family already living under that rock,) and instead said, "Shall I, then? Grow the hell up. We aren't in fucking school anymore, Weasley. This is real life and it's happening right now, and things are more complicated than just 'go die' and 'he was mean to me.' Grow the hell up, and help _Hermione_ at least, and if you aren't going to help, then shut the fuck up!"

"That's enough, boys! Get it together. We still have things to discuss - "

"I'LL DO AND THINK WHAT I DAMN WELL WANT! And don't even pretend like she has forgiven you for treating her like trash for _years,_ Malfoy! YEARS! You think she's forgiven you? She's too _blinded_ by your lies and your trickery to see what is really there - "

"I NEVER LIED TO HER!"

Nora was on her feet before Draco could do more than lunge across the table. She shoved Ron back with a determined hand, sending him to the floor, and rounded on Draco, her voice quiet and tight. "_You listen here_. Either you get along, or I'll have you in Azkaban with no trial whatsoever. You know I can, and you know that no one will care. So _sit down_, stop fighting, and let's get something done, shall we?"

Draco eyed Nora angrily, but her stony expression and furious eyes had him backing into his seat again.

"And _you,_" she turned, and Ron shrank back slightly at the look on her face. "If you won't be objective, then you are _off_ this!"

Nora leaned back and straightened her shirt. Her hands went up to fix the hair that had fallen in her face. "Now. Let's get back to business, _shall we?_"

"I _told_ her I was bad news. And it wasn't like she didn't already know," Draco grumbled.

"I said enough, Draco!"

"I can't deal with him," Ron sputtered, standing up. "I can't do it. Not today."

He strode to the door and threw it open, letting it slam on its own.

"Great. You are just a huge incubus of negative energy, you know that?" Nora got up and stood in front of him. "I need you to lighten up. _Lighten up_. Stop arguing with everyone who is trying to help you. Stop being a bloody brat with the attorney - he actually cares about your case, and he appreciates a challenge. Do you know how much everyone is risking to help you? I'm already getting my name dragged through the mud, and I'm not even an official source for your trial. Do you want to know what they are saying?"

Draco's head titled to the side, away from her words, and shrugged.

"They think I'm out of line. I've had non-Ministry workers helping me with the whole Master No Name fiasco every step of the way. I could get _fired_ because of that. It's a good thing I'm on good terms with the Minister. Also, the head of the Department of Magical Defense, helping the _defendant_ in a Death Eater trial? Half of my department wants me dead right about now."

"So then why do it?"

Nora looked at him squarely for a few seconds, her arms crossed. "Because it's the right thing to do."

Draco unclenched his fist. So people just did that? They just helped lost causes because it was right? They just gave and expected nothing back?

What did she want from him? What did anyone _want_ from him?

"This is what happens," she continued, "when you are friends with normal, good people. They recognize when you are in a pinch, and they _do_ something about it. They don't just watch you fail and maybe feel a little sorry for you. That's not what we're about."

Draco nodded slowly, emotion crawling up his throat.

"This is what happens when you are decent. I'm sorry you never knew." She turned and left the room, signaling to the guards that they were done. Draco's head dropped into his hands once more.

* * *

_Author's note:_ Hey everyone. It's been a while. I've had the worst couple of months ever - death in the family, strep throat, college finals, the whole deal. So I'm sorry if this chapter is a little depressing.

The song for this chapter is "I'm Innocent" by Murs.


	36. Disasterology

"_Politics is a pendulum whose swings between anarchy and tyranny are fueled by perpetually rejuvenated illusions." ~ Albert Einstein_

**Chapter Thirty-six: Disasterology**

In order to change laws, the Department of International Magical Cooperation was involved. Since Hermione had previously done work there, it would be easy for her to get an audience with the Head. Unfortunately, she would have to talk to him about speaking with the International Confederation of Wizards.

While wizards and witches saw them as the finest men in their world, in reality they were a bunch of tired old codgers who were just happy to be able to sleep at night once again. Since Albus Dumbledore's death had removed him from his position there, Hermione could only dream of getting an audience with them under normal circumstances.

She placed no importance on herself nor her help in the defeat of the Dark Lord. As long as she assumed that she was just another muggleborn trying to make it in the world, the ease in which she obtained certain things continued to surprise her.

"You have two options, Hermione," said Richard Caticus, her boss, and the head of the department. "You can go in with a formal petition. They see you have people behind you and they always want to please the people of the wizarding world. Unfortunately, this takes weeks and even months of preparation, which I know you don't have."

Hermione nodded shortly. "I have a few weeks, if that. Draco's trial has already started."

Richard rubbed his neck, concern etched into the lines of his face. "You're going to want the second option then. The chance of success isn't as good, but you have a way with words. Let's hope it does you good."

"What do I need to do?"

"You need to prepare a lecture for them on the specific laws that need to change and why. You are going to need to name drop. Potter is a good one to have behind you on this, so I suggest you warn him of what you are doing. Make it personal, but not _too_ personal. You don't want them to think that you are doing this for yourself."

Hermione wrote this down on a parchment pad, her brows furrowing into the tired, concentrated look she had worn since she had woken up in St. Mungo's.

"I know you've been at home recovering from your ordeal and your injuries, and I assume that you've taken that time to study. I remember how you get." His face split into a friendly crooked smile, remembering those weeks after the defeat of Voldemort, where so much got done in so little time. Hermione had been quite a catch; he was lucky he got to her first. She was the hardest working employee he had ever had. "So by now you should already know where the problem areas are. In order to persuade the Confederation of Wizards however, you are going to have to get to them personally. So research _them_ as well. Laws are different in England than they are in other countries. I'd start with Romania; their laws against Death Eaters aren't as strict, or rather, there aren't as many of them."

She nodded, taking this down and already listing the members of the Confederation and their respective countries.

"I have to warn you: the Wizengamot will not like you breaking the chain of command and going above their heads. The Minister is fair however; he is not likely to be insulted by it. As you know, the International Magical Office of Law keeps track of the laws set forth by the Confederation of Wizards, and is the advisor to both the Minister for Magic and the Wizengamot."

"So if I win the approval of the Confederation, I am ultimately influencing two out of three powers in Draco's trial."

"This is the backdoor approach however. I'm assuming that Draco's attorney and his team are working on the front door approach: persuasion and evidence."

"And the head of the Department of Magical Defense."

"Nora? No kidding." He rubbed his face again. "This is a right mess, isn't it? Between the two of you, when all of this is over the Ministry is going to be split right in half."

The only sounds for a few seconds were the scribblings of Hermione's feather quill against her parchment pad and the sounds of memos flying past his office. It seemed as if Hermione knew the gravity of what she was getting into and even more than that, she knew the consequences. But the fact that she was still writing, still researching, and still fighting was the reason he hired her in the first place:

She always did the right thing, no matter what it took.

"Hermione. I hate to bring this up… but I have a some projects I want you to get started on."

She nodded, still writing. "Okay, sure. That will be no problem at all."

His eyes narrowed a little at the look on her face. She already seemed tired and stressed out enough, but he really didn't have a choice. He had kept her on the payroll during the entirety of her kidnapping and he really needed her to have something to show for it before his other employees found out. "Also, I have a few months pay waiting for you in your vault at Gringotts."

She looked up. "You kept me on payroll?"

He nodded. "I thought they'd find you. That vacation was paid time, remember?"

Hermione's eyes shone with gratitude. "Well, I didn't end up seeing a lot of Edinburgh."

"I know. Just think of it as a gift from me. I know I work you too hard, and the next month will be a real challenge for you. So… just try to keep afloat. And if you need anything else, let me know."

"Sounds good," Hermione said sincerely, getting up and putting away her parchment pad. Richard studied her face briefly. He could visibly see the gears still turning in her head, her mind puzzling out a plan of action.

* * *

Evidence. Everything came down to evidence. While anyone could sway a jury or the Wizengamot with words, evidence was necessary to satisfy the law and to satisfy the tougher members.

_"We need him because he knows where to start. He's used to using things that can't exactly be traced back in paper for his argument and finding the documentation to back it up."_

Witness statements, procured during the trial, were only part of was was going to lighten Draco's sentence, if they even decided to lighten it at all. Physical evidence tended to be the most powerful because it was tangible. "The more of that we have, the better." Gerard ran a hand through his hair and continued to pace. Nora sat writing in her pad, her quill making light scratches on the parchment.

"We need witnesses that are going to give evidence of what actually occurred. We need people who were there, who saw them together, who can prove that Draco is not the same person he was when he stood across from Albus Dumbledore that night at Hogwarts. Hermione needs to be one of those, but we can't wear her out too much. She needs to go on last. Also, trust that the prosecution is going to try to get under her skin, if the International Magical Office of Law even allows her to testify."

"Okay. Should we still try to get Frank?"

Gerard shrugged. "It's a little redundant. How's he doing, by the way?"

"He's stable. St. Mungo's takes good care of muggles, you know how it is. He's going to miss knowing though."

Gerard nodded admittedly, then turned to Draco. He stared for a few seconds before he spoke. "Is there anyone else that you ran into on your journey? Anyone who would be able to help us?"

Draco thought. He didn't fancy getting everyone involved in his screw-up, but if it meant a chance at freedom, at least in the long run, then he was all for offering information. "Kajsa. She helped us get from Sweden to America."

"Kajsa? Swedish name. You say you stopped in Karlstad? Was she in Karlstad?"

"No. Some village along the way. She works at a restaurant."

Gerard nodded. "We'll find her. I've got a team. Oh, and before I forget - we received a message from your uncle in Bath. He received a peculiar package the other day."

"Yes, that would be Loki. She's the Worthington's cat. We took her with us all the way."

"Really? Interesting. We need to get that cat. I'll send someone over to pick her up."

Nora looked up briefly. "Animal memories? Interesting."

"Yes. They can be the most innocent and unbiased look at a situation. People seldom think of them. It's unfortunate really. They tend to be perfect witnesses."

"So that's another one for memory evidence. We still need physical evidence. We still need a backbone to the case."

"Yes well, that's the problem, isn't it? The best we can do is research for now, and see where it takes us. Did you bring those psychology books with you? We've got some major reading to do. That means you too, Draco."

Draco looked up, wondering if Gerard was mad. "The guards won't allow it. I'm just to sit here and listen."

Gerard shook his head. "No you aren't. Here's what's going to happen: we are going to ask you questions. You need to give your honest answers. I need you to admit things to me that you won't even admit to yourself. Is that clear? Your pride disappeared the second they put the Dark Mark on your arm. There's no need to pretend you have any now." The muscles on Draco's jaw worked, and his gaze hardened. "See? That's good. I need you to get emotional. This _is_ emotional. This is about emotion. Emotion is going to save you. There's no need to push it down and hide behind a mask of indifference and disgust. It's not necessary here."

"He doesn't like being lectured," Nora said with a sigh.

"No one does. But I need him to work with me here."

Draco shook his head at his situation. How many years had he spent letting his emotions sit in the corner of his mind, collecting dust and rusting over, to the point where he almost didn't know how to feel anymore? How long had he squashed every emotion that had worked its way up his throat? He'd hid behind his taunts and his sneers because it was easy. It was easy for him to be negative.

Gerard was asking him to do something that was not only difficult, but nearly impossible. Especially since it was for someone who wasn't Hermione.

She did not judge him anymore. How could she? If she even _began_ to judge him, the logical portion of her brain, which was a very large portion, would send her running immediately.

Yes, she had judged him at first. And there were always little tests that she gave him. It was in her nature. But she never judged his intentions anymore.

Draco's head fell into his hands again. Where _was_ she?

"I need her," he mumbled into his hands. "I need to see her. Why hasn't she come to visit me?"

Nora's face fell. "It's not that she hasn't come to visit you. She's not allowed to. By law, prisoners and their captors have an ocean of litigation and restraining orders keeping them as far away from each other as possible. It's to prevent… retaliation."

"The Minister thinks she's going to waltz in here and try to kill me?"

"It's not entirely in his control. He doesn't make the laws, and if he grants any special treatment he has to have a damned good reason for it." She watched the anger rise in Draco's face. "He's already stuck his neck out enough. He doesn't appreciate me bothering him with this constantly."

"You have to take things a step at a time, Draco," Gerard put forth, his voice a lot more soft than it had been a few moments ago. "You will see her. She's already at work on her end, finding out how she can get into the dungeons."

Draco shook his head, not at all certain of anything anymore. It was odd, really, how Hermione had simply disappeared the second they were back on solid ground and she was back in the arms of her friends. Had he been right this whole time? Had she simply fallen victim to a need for companionship, and he had fulfilled that?

Were they both victims of the circumstances? A person you knew, thrown together with you on a journey more dangerous than any you had understaken? One was bound to form a bit of dependency. Or whatever it was.

Or maybe they were just using each other. He knew that he had used her in a way, as justification for his revenge, as a force to keep him moving in that direction. Without her, he probably would have hidden away forever. It wasn't like she didn't want the same thing, right?

Had she used him this whole time, convincing him that going after the Death Eaters was a good idea, as by some ploy by her department?

Draco's eyes widened. Of course. She was employed by the Department of International Magical Cooperation, so she would have been a regular on the Ministry floor before she had gone to Edinburgh. Perhaps everything was an elaborate rouse concocted by the Ministry to weed out the rest of the Death Eaters.

But who would be behind such a plot?

Draco looked sharply over at Nora Constable, who was leaning cross-armed against the table.

"You," he said simply, his face twisting into a sneer.

Nora raised an eyebrow. "I did what, now?"

"You set up this whole thing, didn't you? You set up everything. Hermione's trip to Edinburgh, her capture, everything. Master is your _brother,_ after all. You two probably coordinated the whole thing. Oh, this is just _perfect_."

Nora backed off the table, facing Draco squarely. "I don't know what has gotten into you, but I have been often times your _only_ friend in this - "

"And isn't that convenient that Master escaped? Does Hermione even know about it? Oh, she does, I bet. She worked her magic on me as well, to make sure I stayed on task. And I wondered why she was so keen on us finishing."

"Are you mad? I thought my brother was _dead_, Draco - "

"Sure. And you also thought Hermione couldn't handle it herself, could she? And you knew I knew about the inner workings of the Death Eaters. Now that I look back, my escape was a little too easy, especially knowing Master. I bet the Worthington's were pawns as well? It was rather _convenient_ that Frank was waiting for us that day, ready to take us to Norway and keep an eye on us. But when we got too comfortable, you had to shake things up to get us moving, didn't you? His family even admitted he was working for the Death Eaters. And air-port security. That was a lot more painless than I thought it would be. So how did it work? Have you and Master been planning this for very long? I seem to remember her being a Death Eater for a while. You've probably been planning this for years. And what the hell _happened_ during the battle? You still haven't told me!"

"Draco," Gerard said cautiously, "this is massively counter-productive. You know that this place is messing with your head."

Draco laughed without humor, slapping his chained hands on the desk. Nora jumped slightly at the loud bang. "You're missing my _point_, Constable - "

"That's enough, Draco."

"No!" he shouted, banging his hands on the table again. "I'm sick of this bullshit. I want to _see_ her. End of story. How do I know that anything was real? Anything at all?"

Nora ignored the warning signs of Draco's growing anger and knelt at his chair, her hands attempting to be comforting on his shoulders. "Draco, look at me. _Look at me._ Do you remember what you told me on the mobile?"

He shook off her hands, knowing that he was being childish but refusing to care. "Get off!"

Nora took ahold of his shoulders again, her face suddenly open in a way he hadn't seen it before. "Do you remember?" she asked. "You said that you had no future, but you had a present. And you wanted to stay with her. _That_ is why you brought down the Death Eaters. You basically _single handedly_ handed us the rest of the Dark Lord's followers on a silver platter. Hermione had _nothing to do with that._ And neither did the Ministry."

Draco shook his head, his mind gone, his eyes closed. "And I wondered why she even began to like me at all. I wondered _constantly_ why she was different."

"She loves you, Draco. There's no question."

He snorted, turning away.

"She's been trying to complete lawyer training in one-eighth the time. She's been pulling strings at the Ministry trying to get laws changed. Do you have _any idea_ how hard that woman is working to keep your soul in your body? I had to get Harry to pick up her potions from St. Mungo's, otherwise she wouldn't have gotten a refill. She's been working her _arse_ off for you. Can you respect that a little?"

"Guilt," he sputtered, turning away.

"Not on your life. Hermione doesn't operate that way. _She loves you_."

"Then she needs to be here with me!"

"She's more use to you on the outside. Don't think for a second that the law can keep you guys apart forever. She will find a way, a loophole, or she will bring down our entire legal system in the attempt. Look," she murmured, seeking his attention again. "I know you miss her. I know it's hard. And I know that this sucks. But it's necessary."

Gerard put a hand on Nora's shoulder. "She's right, kiddo. This isn't a conspiracy. We're doing the best we can."

Draco raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, but his expression hadn't changed. He knew that the two of them should have stayed away, stayed on the run. He knew that the feeling of their time running out had been so real.

He could not be sure anymore, though. Of anything. He needed her to set his mind right.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Hello everyone. Thank you so much for your concern; I have been feeling better recently, and your kind comments definitely helped. Happy New Year! I hope everyone is enjoying the direction the story is going.

The song for this chapter is "Swisha" by Ratatat.


	37. Unwavering Resolve

_"Law is vulnerable to the winds of intellectual or moral fashion, which it then validates as the commands of our most basic concept." ~ Robert H. Bork_

**Chapter Thirty-seven: Unwavering Resolve**

"… The bottom line is that if Draco Malfoy had not stepped in, had not taken control of the situation and his destiny, Master No Name would have won. We would still be running around in circles, and they would be greasing old pipes and working their sneaky magic on this great ministry. Draco said, that's not going to happen, not on my watch, and he _did_ something about it. He had the courage to protect Miss Granger from assailants not only stronger than he, but equipped with wands while he did not have one! This is noble indeed, citizens of the jury.

"His plan was clear as soon as he realized how wrong he and those around him had always been. He _actively_ sought to make everything right, fix what was broken. He _actively_ brought them down, overpowering several Death Eaters on numerous occasions and protecting Miss Granger no matter what the circumstances. If that isn't valor, if that isn't honorable, then I doubt anyone is."

"He was fighting for the same reason that Harry Potter, or Albus Dumbledore fought - because it was right. That is what we are talking about, members of the Wizengamot. We are talking about the courage to stand up to what is known in favor of doing what is needed.

"And most importantly, he was successful. Miss Granger was not used as a pawn in the Death Eaters' schemes. Their group was dismantled, finally, after decades of violence to our world, to our families. He struck the final blow in this war. And because of his efforts, we have won."

There was much murmuring among the people present; Nora's chair creaked as she leaned forward.

"Now is not the time to be tossing people into Azkaban without a second thought, which is what would have been done years ago. This is the time to rebuild our community and our beliefs, to salvage what we have left from this war - our sense of community.

"I understand that it is easy to see the mark on his arm and judge him, but as we all know, people are not always as they have been labeled; they are not always what we make of them. For this young man, there were other forces at work, pressures, that you and I cannot know, cannot fathom at this time. We will get to know those pressures, so that before you make a decision, you know what really happened."

* * *

"The defense will tell you that the people who died because of this boy don't matter. He will tell you that it isn't Draco Malfoy's fault that he became a Death Eater. The question is, and this is the only question: is one good deed, in his lifetime of detriment to our world, really enough to redeem him? Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, I think not. I think the law states that he is every bit the man of his crimes.

"The law is not the question here - the question is whether or not the law should be followed. The defense hopes that you will chose in his favor, giving him more power than he deserves. The defense hopes to persuade you that the law, written by the greatest minds of our world, means absolutely nothing. They wish that because he ratted out his friends, he should be given recognition. I'm afraid that's not how the world works, and not how order is kept. People who break the law and put our people's lives in danger deserve to be punished, not given a second chance.

"So I ask you to remember the men and women who fought to protect what we hold most dear, and recognize that Draco Malfoy stands for everything that they did not stand for ..."

* * *

_**Malfoy Trial Sparks New Debate**_

_With the final defeat of the Death Eaters, the Ministry is seeking to repair the damage caused by their thirty year rampage. Among these changes are new relief efforts, laws, and a trial that is sparking a heavy debate on the Ministry floor._

_Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and Death Eater, began his trial yesterday morning in a flurry of controversy over the considerably lax proceedings and security. After a four month tryst with Hermione Granger, who he initially kidnapped and held against her will, Draco allegedly played a significant role in the final battle against the Death Eater camp in Western Canada._

_"I believe it is a waste of Ministry time and effort, not because of his guilt or innocence, but because no matter the circumstances, the law must be strictly observed in all cases," commented Khristina Jiharam, ambassador to India and member of the Wizengamot._

_Nora Constable, head of the Department of Magical Defense, has been working closely with the defense. She had this to say: "Because of his part in the battle, the usual response would be to recognize his efforts and grant leniency. Unfortunately, this type of dealing has no precedent since no Death Eater has every provided significant enough information to gain their release."_

_It is currently unclear as to which way the trial is going, but due to its delicate topic and nature, the Minister is sure to [...]  
_

_[cont. on pg. 6]_

* * *

"What you are doing is working, Hermione."

She nodded, idly twirling a bit of hair around her finger as she read.

Harry was becoming accustomed to being perpetually ignored, so her silence did not deter him. "There was an article in the _Daily Prophet_ about the trial."

She nodded again, flipping the page and readjusting in her seat. The last few weeks had taught her not to be hopeful for anything, as she had scrapped for every bit of approval she could gain for Draco. Her research and back-end persuasion had plateaued as she had feared it would, so she had to work extra hard now that the obvious points had already been wrung dry over the Wizengamot. Harry did not seem to understand how little of an impact she was making; he was there every other day, telling her how well everything was going and how much people are noticing.

Hermione knew better; politicians liked to agree with you to your face and then vote against you as your back was turned.

"I might be able to get you in to see him."

Hermione looked up sharply.

Harry rubbed at his already messy hair. "Apparently if you are a reputable expert, you are allowed to question him, as long as you agree to go on the stand. Which I think you have to do anyway… you are the best witness for the trial I should think."

Hermione shrugged. "I don't believe the prosecutor will see it that way."

"You know how to handle it, Hermione. Stay factual, stay focused on answering the questions, _et cetera_. You make any wrong moves, and the prosecutor will move to have your testimony stricken from the record."

It was amazing how delicate this entire process was. The clunky and mismanaged way in which the Ministry used to do trials had evaporated into something not only more refined, but borderline sinister. Winning had come down to who pulled more strings rather than what was right.

"Hermione… "

"Yes?"

"… Have you ever thought that… maybe Draco _does_ deserve to go to Azkaban?"

Hermione stayed silent. Yes, she had thought that. She was almost resigned to the fact that all this work she was doing was going to amount to nothing in the end. And yet… without seeing him, spending time with him, this was all she had to keep her going.

Nothing she was doing was even challenging for her; nothing was above her ability anymore. In the beginning, it had been hard to say the right thing, hard to push the correct point at the correct person. Now, it was so much a part of her that she did it automatically, and even found herself doing the same thing to her friends. Smoothing over people, pulling information out of her ass at the right time… it was how she operated now.

She needed _him_ to set her right again.

Hopeful that she was just infatuated with him, she had initially looked forward to spending time with her friends again. She had hoped that they would set her straight, realign her priorities and perhaps shed a more balanced light on the situation. In actuality, they had done the opposite - not only could she feel herself drifting away from them, but she could feel them lose hope for her, lose respect for her.

Harry had especially noticed her reformed mask, the same one she had worn so many times in school when she had buried herself in academia and forgotten how to be free with people.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, I have, Harry. I know that he probably deserves to be thrown in Azkaban. But that's not what I want."

Harry looked at her, through her, and realized that he didn't recognize the Hermione in front of him anymore.

* * *

"They are trying to make me sound like some abused kid," he laughed, his whole body shaking with the effort. "I don't know if I deserve that, considering the rich lifestyle I had."

"That is different, Draco. Just because your parents gave you things doesn't mean they gave you the most important thing."

He shook his head, his humorless smirk dropping a little.

"And Draco? You _do_ deserve that. You deserve all of this."

"Do I, now?" The words of the prosecutor rang in his head like a death toll. "She's right. The law is clear."

"Thinking like that will do you wrong, Draco." Nora looked back at Gerard for some backup, and he nodded. "You deserve to be happy. Anyone who would do what you did deserves to be happy."

Draco shook his head. "Well, I bet they didn't appreciate my name being in the same _sentence_ as Albus Dumbledore. That was probably a bad idea."

"Opening statements don't matter as much as you think, Draco. We still have the rest of the trial ahead of us."

Draco scoffed.

"Don't get defensive. And you need to keep your temper in check when we are on the floor. Don't say anything, don't give anyone any looks, and for goodness sake, at least pretend to be slightly interested in what happens to you! I know the prosecutor's words were clinical at best, insulting at worst, but you can't let her get to you. It's what she wants and what she's hoping for."

Gerard put his hands through his suspender loops and snapped them lightly. "She's going to have to question you, Draco, and no matter how well you do, she'll twist it. You just have to let it roll off you, and answer honestly."

He could do it, he realized. He could sit there and let her insult him repeatedly through the trial. It wasn't like he hadn't dealt with that type of thing before.

But he didn't _want_ to.

He was sick of everyone else being right all the time. He was sick of everyone having this idea about him when they knew _nothing_, nothing at all about him.

"Hermione is working out the back-end stuff. Soon, she'll find something that will turn this whole trial around, and she'll let us know."

There was a knock at the door; assuming it was the security guard, Draco immediately let out a heavy sigh and began to stand. Instead, Harry Potter entered and shut the door.

"OUT," he shouted, speaking to Nora and Gerard. Though both looked taken aback by the immediate order, they both complied, Nora giving Harry a warning look as she closed the door.

"Frankly, I'm sick of your shit, Malfoy. My best friend is gone, plain and simple. It's like she's not even alive anymore."

Draco was torn between yelling at Potter for blaming him and asking how Hermione was doing. If Potter had come all the way over here just to bitch him out then _something_ must have happened.

"To think, I was trying to help you guys."

"_Now_ what did I do?"

"DON'T. Just don't." Harry paced in front of the table, and Draco sat back in his chair, knowing that standing in front of Potter the way he was was just encouraging his anger. "You've destroyed everything, Malfoy. Maybe you didn't mean to or whatever, _but you did._ You've destroyed everything that meant anything to me."

Draco's face hardened as the words he had been telling himself all this time got spat in his face. "Shut up, Potter. Don't you think I know that?"

"I'm talking about Hermione too! _Especially_ Hermione. I'm sure I don't have to remind you that you _hated_ the lot of us for the longest time. _We_ are the ones who have been there for her since first year at Hogwarts. So don't even think about lecturing me about her _feelings_ or about what you think is _best_ for her. Don't even get that idea in your fucking head."

Under his angry exterior, Draco shrank back. Potter was right - how much did he truly know about Hermione? Sure, he thought that he loved her, but in the end her friends really knew her. He could say that he'd seen her soul, knew her heart, which is something that he was sure none of her friends knew, but did he know her fears, her quirks? Did he know what made her happy?

"Why did you come here? Just to blame me for all this? I'm sorry. Okay? I'm fucking sorry!"

Harry held his hand up, shaking his head. "I don't care if you're sorry. I really don't."

"Then why - "

"_Because I want you to know!_ I want you to _understand_. If for a _second_ I thought you did not love her, I would kill you myself. But I'm resigned to the fact that you do love her, and she loves you."

"What the - "

"Just know - you are killing her with this. When you _do_ see her, and she sees you, you aren't going to recognize her at all. She's not going to recognize you. And hopefully she sees what kind of man you really are."

Draco stared ahead blankly as Harry slammed the door.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Hey guys. I know you hate me. I'm trying, I really am. It gets better, trust me.

Song for this chapter is "Between Two Points" by The Glitch Mob.


	38. Daybreak's Bell

_"You have to do stuff that average people don't understand because those are the only good things." ~ Andy Warhol_

**Chapter Thirty-eight: Daybreak's Bell**

Hermione had no idea what to expect.

The situation was so different now that she had her eyesight back. Not only could she see the face that she remembered from what seemed like forever ago, but she could attach her memories to a body that she could not only feel, but see as well.

It was going to be startling, she knew; preparing for seeing his face was making her more nervous than she needed to be.

She was wearing the dress he had always liked. Even though she knew it looked odd with her dark cloak and lace-ups, she knew he would appreciate it. She fiddled with the ribbon in her hair as the lift seemed to take forever. When the doors opened, Nora was there, standing with a bundle of parchment as if she had been waiting for her.

"Hermione," she said, her expression warm.

"Yes, finally, I know," Hermione replied.

Nora threw her free arm around the girl's shoulders. "I am so glad you've come. Draco's been a right mess lately."

Hermione nodded silently, remembering why she was here and suddenly nervous again.

"… But now that you're here, we can talk things over a bit and figure out how we are going to do this, correct?"

She nodded again. "I've got information for you. And my certification."

Not fooled by Hermione's business-like tone, Nora gave the girl's shoulders a squeeze. "Hermione," she said, "Don't be nervous. You two are the same people I talked to on the mobile those months ago. The separation will have given you some perspective."

She was right; how would Hermione have known if what she felt was real if they had spent more time together, day and night, as was what they had wanted? She had proved, over the course of the last few weeks, that she still needed him and still wanted to help him.

As to what he felt, well, she did not know. Azkaban's holding cells did strange things to people, and sitting in a courtroom all day listening to people talk about him probably did nothing for his temper. With any luck, it had not damaged him enough to where she wouldn't recognize him anymore.

"Nora, I thought of something."

Nora perked up at being addressed. "Let's hear it."

"What if we just lie?"

Nora searched for something delicate to say. Hermione would never willingly offer to be untruthful with something unless the need was desperate.

"We can talk to the members of the Order. If it seemed that Draco was actually working for the Order the whole time, maybe his case will turn out better."

"Hermione, I don't know how to say this," Nora began, looking at the other woman directly. "The trial has started already. Changing our position now would be unwise; the Wizengamot already thinks that this whole trial is a fabrication to keep them busy while the Department of Mysteries tries to sort through Mas... Master's research."

"Ah yes... the 'research.'" Hermione scoffed bitterly.

"Literally... there is nothing more that can be done. We've collected all the hard evidence we could... and most of it is bullshit. Our side and their side are arguing two different things, and the Wizengamot and jury are going to realize it at some point. It's only a matter of time."

"You aren't arguing different things. You are both disputing his punishment."

"It may seem that way, but everyone knows he is being put away regardless. They don't have to prove that he's done the things that he has done... there is no mistake of that. They just have to disprove what we are saying - that he has changed and that his good deed was not a sneaky way of saving his own skin."

"There has to be a way to legitimize the journey we went on!"

"We've tried, and we'll keep trying."

"_That's not good enough!_"

In spite of her understanding, Nora's eyes narrowed. She shook her head, remembering how much Nora had sacrificed in order to help them. "I'm sorry."

They had reached the end of the hallway. Nora paused at the door to allow Hermione to breathe in and out, and then nodded to the Auror standing guard.

* * *

Draco hated when his mum would ask nicely for things. "Can you do mummy a favor," she'd start. It made him sick, made his blood run hot.

He would rather she just said it, staccato and loud. No, don't say "thank you" and whatever you do, don't say "please." That _really_ ticked him off. Don't beg when you know you don't have to. There was no such thing as a choice. "Please." Yeah right. They know that he would do what they asked, whether they screamed it at him or not.

Trying to be nice about it just made him angry.

His mother faced away from him. "Your father is gone, shipped to Azkaban. You are on your way. Do you realize that if you are convicted and sent away, the Ministry will seize everything we've worked for?"

There it was. With both men of the household gone, Narcissa Malfoy had little say in what happened to their property, their estate, their _money_. The anti-Death Eater laws of the wizarding world not only punished Death Eaters, but their families as well. Since Draco could previously be considered the "man of the house" while his father was in Azkaban, the Ministry could do little more than give the family a hefty fine. But now that both men were gone and Narcissa, whose name was not on any documentation as far as their family account, was left alone in the house, the Ministry would have an easier time confiscating their estate. "War crimes" was a broad term and the Wizengamot could basically name their own price where reparations were concerned.

It was likely that the Ministry had not only anticipated this situation… they had damn near planned for it.

Draco put his head in his hands. "I don't know what you want me to do, Mum. There is nothing I _can_ do from where I am."

Narcissa nodded hurriedly, brushing her hair into place to hide her watering eyes. "I should never have let you join him. He continues to ruin our family, even after death."

It did not even seem like the Dark Lord was dead sometimes; nothing had changed, at least for Draco. His life was still not in his control. His family, though brought together by the trials they were put through, was still not strong enough to rise above their pride. The Ministry was still a mess, the members either corrupt or inept.

"I should have saved you myself," Narcissa started again. "Instead of letting them take you."

He shook his head. "You tried, mother. That's all that matters."

"No. Results matter. There was no reasoning with that psychotic tart. She has no regard for family, so why would our relationship matter to her? - "

"It's fine. I made my own way."

"You wouldn't have had to escape, you wouldn't have had to meddle in their plans at all." She paused, and Draco knew immediately where she was going with this. "That _Granger_ girl has ruined your chances."

"Oh mother," Draco spat bitterly, "my chances weren't good to begin with. They never have been."

Her eyes found his and a stony expression came over her features, the same she wore whenever she was about to lecture him. "If you have done _anything_ with her that would jeopardize the purity of the Malfoy bloodline - "

"Stop," Draco said lowly, his eyes cold. "I won't have you insulting her, and by extension, me. Our 'bloodline' was forfeit long ago."

Narcissa stared at him incredulously, and opened her mouth to retort.

"We haven't done anything of that sort, mother." Draco interjected, turning away. "And besides, none of that matters. Can't you see that? None of it matters anymore. Our blood is nothing more than a shield against our family's failures. We've sat in the comfy little nest of our wealth and prestige, our high collars and pride. But that has been taken from us. There is nothing left to preserve."

"You are wrong," Narcissa put forth, crossing her arms over her corseted stomach. "If you want to give _her_ anything more than grief, you best think about that. Our friends are no longer in power at the Ministry; instead, we are at the mercy of those who despise us. Even I cannot find a high enough ranking position to fill at the Ministry; I've had to settle for a desk position."

The thought of his mother working in an office made Draco smirk a little. "Oh no. The Ministry made you finally get a job."

The glare Narcissa sent him seared the back of his head. He tried not to cringe - he really did not know why he was being so short with his mother. It was likely to not end well. "Hermione doesn't care about any of that. She's different from the rest of them."

"That she is," Narcissa said under her breath, still facing away from him. Her meaning was not lost on him. "Yet our _pureblood_ status will not save us anymore," Narcissa put forth quietly, her fingers toying with the cloth of her handkerchief. "I fear that all we have left is each other."

_And we don't even have that._

There was a knock at the door, and Nora ducked her head in quickly. "Draco… there is someone here to see you."

His heart leapt into his throat as Hermione appeared in the doorway.

Her eyes were strange; they were not black, nor were they the unremarkable brown they had been before any of this had happened. They were a dry, dusty brown, and lacked the usual spark that he had always seen. She looked frightened and tired, like she hadn't slept in days. He barely recognized her.

She was staring directly at him, and he carefully watched the emotions flitting across her face as Nora talked, suddenly noticing that his hair was uncombed and wondering if he had remembered to wash his face that morning. He saw confusion, disgust, and sorrow in the wide eyes settled on him, as well as the thing he was hoping the most against:

Fear.

"She's going to be submitting memory evidence today, as well as asking you some questions."

Hermione looked between Draco and his mother, who had turned and was gazing at her directly, a note of contempt in her expression.

It was hard for her to believe that the man she now saw was the same one she had fought, run from, argued with, and grown to love as not only a companion, but a friend as well. They had shared so much that seeing him like this was almost foreign to her. She _was_ afraid; the last few months now felt like a dream that she had woken up from and only certain details remained. Why had she not prepared herself for this more? He'd had the entirety of their time together to get used to seeing her face, knowing that it was the same face he had tormented for years.

She could not attach those memories to this face, this body. Though he was less menacing and thinner, he was definitely the Draco Malfoy that her memory supplied from Hogwarts, from Malfoy Manor. His hair fell longer than she remembered, and even slightly wavy; not having his hair gelled back certainly helped make him less intimidating, but the hard lines of his face were the same, if not more pronounced.

He was staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to move, waiting for the inevitable rejection. But instead of moving forward immediately, Hermione closed her eyes.

His presence was the same, his mind was the same. His thoughts were a muddled, sad mess; she could feel his stress more than ever as it overpowered his happiness in seeing her again.

"It really is you," she breathed, quickly closing the distance between them and burying her face in his neck. Draco inhaled and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"_Excuse me_." Draco's mother said angrily, her eyes wide at the scene in front of her.

Draco gave no indication he heard her; his mind was filled with Hermione's emotions. He did not let go until Hermione pulled away and straightened up awkwardly.

She looked over at his mother, and then seemed to compose herself, taking in Narcissa's red eyes and dark attire. "It is nice to meet you properly, Ms. Malfoy."

Narcissa turned her face away from the girl in a clear show of disrespect and addressed Nora instead. "I am required back at the Ministry."

She left with that, and Hermione turned to Draco, appreciative of his contrite expression. "Please excuse my mother," he began cautiously.

Hermione shrugged and smiled. "It's okay."

* * *

_"You don't know what this is like - it's like my eyes are sewn shut. I don't know what you are doing ever - "_

_"What, you think I'm going to hurt you?"_

_"… I don't know - "_

_"I won't hurt you if you don't give me a reason to, okay?"_

_"How am I supposed to believe that when you've been nothing but foul to me ever since I've known you?"_

_"It's like I never saved your life at all!"_

_"That's a convenient excuse."_

_"Convenient? Maybe I should just leave you here for them to find you. That would be convenient."_

_"I'll expose you in a second if you do that!"_

Draco did not want to look up and see the faces in the stands of the Wizengamot. The memory, one of Hermione's, played in the center of the room, looking like a cloud of black smoke that emitted smells and sounds. Instead, he watched the face of the prosecutor as the past Draco and Hermione continued to argue.

The memory ended abruptly, and the room turned towards Draco to see his expression.

"As you can see, their 'journey' together was not exactly smooth, nor was it an alliance of want or friendship. Their supposed friendship was merely a ploy developed out of necessity, so that _both_ of them could achieve the end they ultimately wanted with the least amount of trouble." The prosecutor let the last statement hang for emphasis as she stared down the jury. "That is all."

Gerard scratched in his beard and nodded to the prosecutor as she went to sit down. "Record Keeper, at what time is did this memory occur?"

"June twenty-first, 6:37 pm."

"And can you remind us again what day Miss Granger was confirmed missing?"

"June thirteenth, at 7:04 am."

"Eight days," Gerard said, turning toward the Wizengamot. "This is eight days after a person who you knew to be a Death Eater has counter-kidnapped you in an attempt to save you, eight days after you have been rendered blind, eight days of running from dark wizards and scraping every bit of freedom you can. That's eight days of carrying someone through the woods, of finding food, of navigating through Death Eater infested towns and forests and staying safe. Imaginably, your tempter is likely to be that of a Blast-Ended Skrewt."

A few members of the Wizengamot chuckled, having had experience with them.

"It takes more than eight days to gain someone's trust. I've been married for sixteen years and my wife _still_ doesn't trust me." More members of the Wizengamot chuckled. "That especially applies to people who have adversarial relationships. One can't judge the dynamics of their entire journey based on a few arguments. If we could, I doubt any of us would have many friends at all." Gerard paused. "Thank you."

Draco allowed himself a small smile. The trial really was destroying his emotions; one minute, he wanted to wring the neck of the prosecutor as she spoke about him in such a familiar and condescending manner, as she dissed every good intention he'd had and said the very things that he thought in his own head about himself. But when Gerard stood to defend him, it seemed that he pulled a rebuttal out of his arse, managing to make the prosecutor look silly and at the same time lightening the tension in the room.

It was hard to say where this was all going.

He hoped that they could continue to keep afloat.

As a recess was called, Gerard went over to Nora's side of their table.

"I've scheduled another meeting for Draco and Hermione. This afternoon." Nora's eyes shone as the parchment rolls slid into her briefcase. "Together, they are a powerful force."

"Yes. I've never seen anything like it. But that's a dangerous thing you did, Nora."

Nora shook her head, taking a sip of water and setting down her glass lightly. "I know, Gerard. I may have killed this case for them."

He shrugged. "The prosecutor will use it for sure, but we will get a lot of good information, and Draco's spirits will be lifted. That's really what we need. He has hope now."

"That might not be a good thing."

"True. But at the end of the day what do we have if not hope for something better?"

* * *

_Author's note_: Nope, I'm not dead. See? *dodges harpoons* The song for this chapter is "Cloudlight" by Eskmo.


	39. Edge of Heaven

_"__There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.__" ~ Buddha_

**Chapter Thirty-nine: Edge of Heaven**

"Dammit, Draco."

He shook his head. "I know."

Hermione cuddled further into his chest, wishing that his hands weren't bound in shackles so he could hold her. "This is a mess," she commented.

He nodded mutely.

"What could we have done differently to make this work?"

"I don't want to think about it."

_Of course he doesn't._ "Okay," Hermione sighed, trying to keep from slipping off of his lap as the shackles dug into her side. "You're right."

"I can't do this, I'm sick of this, I want to be _gone_ already."

She shook her head at him, her once again bushy hair catching on his stubble. Gone? She couldn't let that happen. She hadn't put in those hours for nothing. Their journey _had_ to mean something, _had_ to factor in somehow. It wasn't fair that she would realize too late what they could have had.

"Why didn't we happen sooner?"

"We?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "we."

Draco snorted. "I'm a bloody numbskull, that's why. Besides, thinking about that isn't going to make anything better."

"I know," she replied. "I'm just… I'd like to think it changes something."

There was a knock at the door, and Nora stepped in, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear with one hand and opening the door wider with the other. She was followed by Harry, who had started speaking but stopped when he saw Hermione's position on Draco's lap.

Harry and Draco locked eyes, and there was a flash of darkness there, like Harry had just seen Draco's death at his hand flash before him. Draco's eyes were pleading, begging him to understand.

Harry scoffed in irritation. "Weird," he muttered, looking away.

Hermione launched off of Draco's lap, her cheeks pink, and plopped down in the seat next to his.

"Hermione, are you ready for your preparations?"

She nodded, trying to straighten her pants and regain an air of professionality. "Yes. I have some notes for you, Nora. Where is Gerard?"

"He'll be along."

"I need to discuss a new approach with him."

Nora fixed Hermione with her most disapproving look. "No. I already said that's not going to work."

"I've already gotten Kingsley's backing on it!"

"We are going to do this properly! If he gets off based on his innocence alone, life will be so much easier for him!"

"But he's not getting off! You _know_ that!"

"What's going on?" Harry asked, turning to Draco. Draco shook his head.

"Hermione wants the Order of the Phoenix to come forward to say that Draco was under their wing the entire time."

It was Harry's turn to shake his head. "No."

"Why not?"

"Besides that being _so_ unlikely given Malfoy's past," Harry started, his gaze leveled with Draco's, "the Order does not have enough Ministry backing in order for it to get him off."

"The Order was almost completely disbanded not a year ago. Don't you remember what it was like?"

Hermione's jaw set. "The Minister himself was in the first Order. Surely he would - "

"The Minister grows tired of me knocking on his office door to get more favors. I'm not going to bug him further with this!"

Draco stared at the girl next to him, his heart warm. She was trying to take control of the situation, as was her nature. Lying was not her style, but sincerity usually wasn't his. They were all doing something new here. "I agree with Potter."

Hermione whipped around to face him, her eyes dangerous. Draco chose his next words carefully. "No one will buy it anyway. Considering that the Ministry was searching for us, the Order of the Phoenix would have put a stop to that by at least letting Nora know."

Nora nodded.

"Fuck it," Hermione muttered darkly, shaking her head. "It's only the best way."

"We know," Harry said, "But it's not the right way."

There it was again; Nora and Harry were trying to do the right thing instead of the easy thing. Draco was starting to get the hang of it; unfortunately, he didn't know how much use that was going to be to him if he got sent to Azkaban.

"They…" Hermione stopped and swallowed, trying to keep her voice under control, "they'll kill him if he goes to Azkaban."

Nora nodded solemnly. Strange things happened to traitors in Azkaban, and though usually no one stepped forward to claim responsibility for their deaths or dismemberment, there was no question as to why it happened. As long as there were Death Eaters in Azkaban, Draco would not be safe there. "We know, Hermione," Nora said softly, trying to calm the other woman's growing concern, "and we are looking into it."

There was a law that had to be changed somewhere, or some kind of addendum that needed to come to light in order to fix this. While Hermione was researching all she could, and had learned more about wizard law in the past few weeks than she had ever hoped to know, there was still something missing.

"Maybe the Minister - "

"_What have I said about bothering the Minister?_"

Hermione flinched at the flare of anger; an angry Nora was something everyone knew to avoid.

"Trust me when I say that everything that can be done is being done. I know it is hard to trust us, but we are doing the best we can." Nora leveled her gaze with Harry's. "Your time of doing things the backdoor way are over. This is the adult world, and everything here has a place. We are governed by laws here; any finagling will not be taken lightly." The threat was clear. "And if there _is_ any finagling, you need to let me know. The last thing I want is any of you getting caught."

True, they had all gotten off fairly easily for breaking into the Ministry back in fifth year. They had gotten off easily when they had claimed responsibility for breaking into - and out of - Gringotts. But now that they were adults, working adults, they had to play by the same rules as everyone else or suffer the consequences.

* * *

Dinner with the Weasley's was a more quiet affair than it usually would have been, or rather, _should_ have been, considering Hermione's presence at the table. She liked to think that she was not putting a damper on the mood, but she could not be sure, what with the way the various family members were disapprovingly gawking at her like that.

"How is your research going, Hermione?" Ginny asked quietly, reaching across her to grab a bowl of mashed potatoes.

"Well, I suppose."

Ginny nodded, turning her head away and spooning more food onto her plate. "I guess it will help with the trial, then."

She nodded, pushing her food about with her fork, swirling sauce and tiny bits of pepper around into patterns.

"I think it's going much better," Harry piped in, his hand rubbing life into Hermione's stiffened shoulder. "Gerard is doing a wonderful job."

"Since when did you get so supportive?"

"I'll support Hermione, no matter what happens or what she's gotten into… obviously." Some members of the group chuckled. Though Hermione appreciated the thought, she didn't appreciate the subtle condescension. It wasn't like she was usually the one who got into trouble. "Even if that means helping out Malfoy."

"Git," Ron muttered from across the table. Hermione looked down at her plate in case his gaze was searching for hers. She had avoided that particular conversation for a long time now and didn't want it striking up at the dinner table.

"We all support you, Hermione," Molly Weasley put forth, smiling reassuringly at her and leveling Ron with a disapproving look.

As soon as Charlie rose from the table, stretching, the other members followed suit, ready to escape the awkward silence and feeble conversation. They began grabbing their dishes and depositing them into the sink for the women to take care of as usual. Ginny waved off her mother as she made to help, making it clear that she would take care of it.

"I'll help with the dishes," Hermione said as Ginny brushed past her to turn on the sink water. She shrugged almost imperceptibly, her stance tense as she took up a sponge and levitated the bottle of soap over to them.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around. Is Ron terribly mad at me?"

Ginny shook her head, beginning to scrub. She was clearly not in the mood to converse with Hermione.

"Ginny, look at me." She shook her head again, still scrubbing, the plate chiming against the sink in protest.

Hermione wrapped her arms around the girl's waist, willing her stiff body to turn around. When her face came into view, Hermione sighed; the girl was fighting off tears.

"I don't like it," she mumbled. "I'm sorry!"

Hermione nodded, feeling her own eyes prickle as Ginny buried her face in her hair. "I know. I'm sorry too."

"It's just… things were going to be perfect - you were going to be home, and I thought the thing you had with Malfoy would sort of disappear… and then you didn't talk to us… and Ron's a mess… I thought this was going to be over." She wiped her eyes, trying to suck in her messy feelings.

"I know it's all just… wrong_._ But I can't explain what happened… we just fell for each other."

She sniffed and muttered angrily, "No offense, but if I see him, he's gonna get a slap."

Hermione's heart warmed a little as her protective friend raised her head, and she saw the fire in her eyes. "That's fine."

She smiled. "I'm holding you to that."

Hermione released her and stepped in beside her to soap up a cooking pot. "It's both of our faults, really. I could have stopped it if I wanted to. And I wanted to… but I didn't. I can't explain it."

"He didn't…" Ginny trailed off awkwardly.

"Didn't what?"

She put the plate she had been cleaning in the drying rack, hesitated, then started on the next one. "He didn't touch you, did he?"

Hermione scoffed, rinsing her pot. "No more than I wanted him to."

"What does that mean?"

"It means…" Hermione put the pot in the drying rack and faced the girl properly. "I don't know if I can tell you this. You can't tell the others, okay? They already think the worst about the whole thing."

Ginny stopped as well, her eyes brightening slightly at the prospect of juicy girl news. "I promise I won't."

Not normally being a person to kiss and tell, Hermione could feel a blush beginning to rise in her cheeks. Sure, in retrospect they hadn't done a lot romantically, but considering how inexperienced she was it certainly _felt_ like a lot to her.

"Did you guys fuck?" Ginny burst out.

"What? Absolutely not!"

She paused. "Did you suck him off?"

"_No!_"

"Did he go down on you?"

"No."

"Did he _finger_ you?"

"No!"

"Then what did you guys do all those months?" she asked, her frown dropping into a slight smirk.

Hermione shook her head.

"You had to find _some_ way to pass the time."

Irritation added to the redness of her growing blush. Surely normal couples didn't shag all the time? They were still fairly young, after all. Hermione knew that there were plenty of girls she knew who had already begun having sexual relationships with people. While it was understandably a large part of a relationship, it wasn't the standard, was it? "I don't know. We argued a lot, he ignored me a lot. Then it got awkward… and all I could think about was him… and then it sort of happened like that."

"Like how?"

Hermione sighed in frustration, wondering why she couldn't articulate the beginning of their relationship properly. "Well… this tension was building. It was almost painful. And then one day we were arguing about something, and I just kind of snapped. I _told_ him what I felt… and then he kissed me."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, but well… even after that it was awkward. He's still a prick."

The girl nodded, taking up her sponge again. "So you guys _didn't_ shag, then."

"No."

"Then what happened?"

"I guess… we sort of fooled around."

"Like how? Give me details."

Hermione frowned, dropping the last dish into the drying rack. "No!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "It's not unnatural. Surely you know that. You may think it's embarrassing because it's Malfoy, but I'm sure he gets around anyway."

"He doesn't. He's not allowed to."

Ginny snorted. "That never stopped a lot of the Slytherin purebloods. Just look at Pansy, or Nott." She eyed her friend's slightly crestfallen demeanor and backtracked. "That is to say, his family is stricter than most, I'm sure. Well, then? What did you two do?"

Shaking her head, Hermione crossed her arms, hugging her sides. "Mostly we snogged." The connection she had with Draco was something she wasn't ready to tell anyone about. While this would be a key bit of information to share, she wanted it to stay between her and Draco. "We showered together a few times. Maybe twice."

Ginny's face opened up into a smile, but it darkened as she seemed to realize who they were talking about. Despite him being a fairly attractive member of her preferred sex, the thought of him naked wasn't something she wanted to think about. She looked away for a second to cover herself. "And he didn't try to… you know… facilitate anything?"

"Not really." Hermione paused. "How come you know about this sort of thing? You and Harry haven't done anything like that yet, have you?"

The smirk that came over Ginny's features rivaled one from Draco himself. "You don't think we were sneaking off all those times last term to just _snog,_ did you?"

* * *

"We as humans have a tendency to argue about the smaller things rather than address bigger, scarier issues. It was why we fought all the time; neither of us wanted to go any deeper than we were, it felt too raw and indecent. It was easier for me to say that he was arrogant and petty, and generally inept at many basic tasks.

"I could have commented on the fact that it was obvious that his rich upbringing had a hand in his incompetence and arrogance, or gone deeper to say that because of that he wasn't valuable. He could easily have said that I resorted to books because of my bad personal relationships, or how hallow they are. And that I am the reason for that. But we didn't have too - honestly, we didn't want to fight. We just did because it felt like what we _should_ be doing in the situation."

"So… you fought and argued because you _felt you needed to?_"

"Yes. To maintain our previous enmity."

"And why would you want to maintain that?"

Hermione paused. "To make it seem like the world hadn't fallen apart." It was true. Maintaining their negative relationship, in the beginning, had been about making things seem normal, making things seem as if there was nothing to worry about. Nothing was happening between them, how could there be? They were still squabbling like a couple of teenagers. Of course they weren't growing to like each other, and of course there wasn't a terrorist organization after them.

Gerard shook his head. "That's not going to be good enough, Hermione. She's going to pick the meat from your bones."

Hermione's head dropped into her chest. As if talking about this wasn't hard enough, there was a possibility that none of this was going to make any difference. "I'm trying. It's just… everything is rooted in emotions."

Gerard nodded, looking over his question parchment. "We know, and the prosecutor knows that as well. Emotions are vague and messy. You have to make it obvious, make it real, make it tangible. At least that way, the Wizengamot and jury will likely relate. That is what we are aiming for."

She nodded, looking down at her parchment pad.

"Lets try something else. What do you think she is going to ask you?"

"She's going to ask about… what he did to me."

"Correct. She's going to ask about _actions_, about _events_. Things that can be proven, especially by her. She's got your memory evidence. She can play anything back that she wants."

"And she will ask about his initial intentions."

Gerard cocked his head to the side and tutted. "Perhaps. But she will be expecting the same drivel about him being heroic and trying to save the day. Unless his intentions can be explicitly proven, they aren't worth their weight."

Hermione shook her head, her mind soaring. Surely there was _something,_ anything that could prove that without a doubt he was doing everything for the right reasons. She thought back to the very beginning of their journey, when he had taken her hands and planted them on the panacea tree she had been so desperate to see. They had argued constantly then… but even though he had been an egotistical prat at best and a depressed, psychotic bully at worst, he had always meant to protect her. Maybe not for her worth to him personally, or even as a person, but protection had to mean something either way.

He had always protected her.

"He protected me from the beginning, whether he liked me or not."

"Uh huh. That's all good and well. But… " Gerard crossed his arms, "where is the proof?"

"I'm still alive."

"Okay." He didn't sound convinced.

"We won, in the end."

"Uh huh. You don't have to answer me now, Hermione. You don't have to go on the stand for some time. But these are the things you need to be thinking about. The prosecutor will turn you against yourself, and downplay anything emotional. So be ready."

* * *

_Author's note_: Hey guys. I know updates are spaced a lot. I promise that this story will get done though. The song for this chapter is "Nantes" by Beirut.


	40. Heart Skipped a Beat

_"Sex without love is a meaningless experience, but as far as meaningless experiences go its pretty damn good." ~ Woody Allen_

**Chapter Forty: Heart Skipped A Beat**

Now that Gerard was given the floor to defend him, Draco got to see more of the positive memories from Sweden and Alaska. It was not enough to pull him out of the funk he was growing into, however; the kindness that Potter and Nora were showing him was doing little for his self image. While he should have felt good that he was "worth" saving, or helping at least, in actuality it just made him feel unworthy.

After everything he had done to Potter, he was helping him out?

It didn't make sense.

_You__ and__ I __are__ not __so __different, __Malfoy,_ Potter had said the previous day.

Draco shook his head, leaning back against the flat, stiff canvas pillow he had propped against the wall. He had always been jealous of Potter's resilience, of his popularity, his skills. Whether he admitted it or not, Potter was what Draco _could_ have been, if circumstances had been different.

_I __just __don't __mind__ showing __weakness, __and __trusting __people. __I __know__ that __under__ all __that __bullshit __that __you __project, __you __really __just __want __someone __to__ care._ Draco had scoffed, though his hunched shoulders and downcast gaze had affirmed Harry's statement anyway.

Hermione cared, at least he thought she did, and really that's all he needed. It was a start, right? Everyone else just made him uncomfortable.

_This is what good, decent people do. I'm sorry you never knew._

Even Nora seemed to care about him in some way.

Metallic clicks brought him out of his thoughts as a guard unlocked his door. "Alright, Malfoy, time to go."

He stood up, straightened his prison garb and made for the cell door.

* * *

Though the trial seemed to go without many hiccups, Hermione was still wracked with worry.

Her research had slowed down and her inspiration had plateaued, even though she had searched through every Death Eater law she could find. There were some useful things that could potentially get him a shorter sentence, but even with that he would have to spend a minimum of two years in Azkaban before those options even became available. And that was _only_ for the charge of the Dark Mark. It did not factor in his punishment for kidnapping, use of Unforgivables, assault, and any of the other charges brought against him. She knew that he could offer the Ministry detailed information about the inner workings of the Death Eaters, but now that they were mostly disbanded it did not seem as valuable.

What information _was_ valuable, however, were spells, dueling techniques, and dark artifact suppliers. Draco could easily give that up.

Hermione tried not to think about what the Death Eaters in Azkaban would do once they found out how much information Draco was giving the Ministry.

She didn't want to think about him being hurt while he was there… ex Death Eaters often got released with missing limbs, broken spirits, or wild eyes (as with Bellatrix Lestrange.) How normal was he going to be once he was free? Was he going to be permanently scarred from the experience, putting a strain on their relationship, or was he just going to appreciate the start of a normal life?

Would they be able to do everything that normal couples did? Hermione pictured a candlelit dinner in a garden, skipping over puddles in the rain … Draco's hands popping open her shirt buttons and pushing the fabric off her shoulders…

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Hermione ground out, smacking herself on the temple.

Ever since her conversation with Ginny, her thoughts kept going back to that particular topic and it was distracting. She breathed in and out for a few seconds, getting control of her heart rate, before she took up her quill again.

Why was she so afraid to think about it anyway? Everyone had done it. Her _parents_ had done it, otherwise, she wouldn't be alive. Even Ginny and Harry had gone at it before. How had that escaped her notice?

It was fine for her to think about it, after all, they were _together_. The soul-speaking thing wasn't proper sex anyway.

She shook her head, smacking herself again as she thought of the intense intimacy that they had shared with that connection.

Hermione honestly couldn't believe that she had done that, and even more so, more than once. It had happened on several occasions, enough to where she had stopped counting. Though the memories of each occasion were fading now that it had been a month or two, she could distinctly remember the shared space, the way his emotions and thoughts would wash over her, uninhibited and untarnished by his insecurity, like the needy feeling of his hands on her skin…

Her cheeks grew hot.

He didn't seem like a "sexual" person, like Ginny did. He had told her on numerous occasions, back in the beginning, that her distrust of his intentions was insulting and that sex was "the farthest thing from his mind." And though he had nudged her along most of the time when they were fooling around, it didn't seem like it was for himself.

She allowed herself a small smile. Maybe he was actually a gentleman, under that smug prick exterior.

Shaking her head, Hermione sighed, resigned to the fact that she wasn't likely to get any more research done today.

Besides, if she didn't find a way to make Draco's charges go away, the possibility of them having sex would never be a reality.

* * *

"Does no good deed go unpunished? He knew he was risking himself in order to foil the Death Eaters' plans and protect Miss Granger. He nearly single-handedly brought them down and we are sending him to Azkaban? I see a flaw in our system!"

"He did _not_ bring down the Dark Lord's followers, the brave men and women of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement did!"

"He was responsible for that!"

"He was responsible for nothing but himself. He would not even divulge the location to the Ministry when he had the chance, a full month before they eventually had to get it themselves! I would not call that 'responsible'."

"Mr. Malfoy just did not trust anyone; he knows that the Dark Lord always had moles in the Ministry, so he _had_ to protect his knowledge of the location in case that was still true! The problem is that our system does not incorporate intent. The law is black and white, but crimes are not!"

"Objection - this is not a convention to reform the wizarding constitution!"

The Minister massaged his temples. "Sustained. And if we are through with the argument, can the defense call its next witness?"

Gerard nodded compliantly, careful to keep his composure when directly addressed by the Minister. He looked briefly at the rest of the Wizengamot; they looked especially bored, only kept focused by the unfolding of an argument that had no precedent in this tightly calm trial.

The jury however sat with rapt attention, apparently intrigued by the intricacies of the trial and entertained by the warring sides.

"The defense calls Pansy Parkinson to the stand."

Though she still maintained the air of self entitlement that she had while at school, her demeanor was more lethargic than menacing. Her worry over Draco's fate had dulled her usual ferocity. They locked eyes as she walked past him; she tried to convey how sorry she was, but she wasn't sure if he saw it.

Once seated, her wand in the hands of the record keeper, Gerard faced her squarely.

"Can you tell us about your relationship with Draco Malfoy?"

"We were close friends in school. And we dated for a bit."

Gerard nodded, ignoring the prosecutor's smirk. He already knew how she was going to twist things. "Can you tell us about your sixth year at Hogwarts?"

"It was… difficult. With preparing for N.E.W.T.s and everything." She swallowed, knowing her answer was lame.

"What was Slytherin House like around this time, with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on the rise?"

Pansy's eyes clouded over briefly as she seemed to get the courage to respond honestly. "It seemed like a normal year, except we all knew that wasn't true. Our... our parents were preoccupied with the Dark Lord's plans, and their letters of reassurance were few and far between. No one else at the school seemed to understand this. It was like a secret within our house, a shared… knowledge."

"Did you know that Mr. Malfoy was involved directly?"

"No, but he wasn't particularly good at hiding it either way. He seemed the most affected out of all of us. He was… silent a lot. And when he did talk, he would say things that seemed so out of place."

"Did he ever try to tell you?"

Pansy looked over at Draco; he was staring at a point over her shoulder, his eyes slightly unseeing. "Towards the end of the year, he did."

"What did he say?"

She looked suddenly uncomfortable. "He pulled me aside, and was talking non-sense, about us all being safe, and about the school. And he kept saying, 'you don't know what I've done.'"

Gerard nodded reassuringly to Pansy, indicating that she was doing well, and looked up at the Minister. "Does the Wizengamot need memory evidence for this claim?"

The Minister looked around at the wizards and witches around him, gauging their reactions, then shook his head. "No. You may proceed."

If Gerard was put off by the Wizengamot's lack of interest he did not show it. "What was your romantic relationship like?"

Pansy looked back to Draco; he was definitely looking at her now. "It… was fine. We knew it wouldn't last, and he was very distracted with his own problems… but I had no complaints."

Draco grimaced.

"Thank you, Miss Parkinson." Gerard gestured to the prosecutor cordially, returning to his table.

The prosecutor set the parchment she had been examining back on the table and stood, coming towards Pansy with slow steps.

"Miss Parkinson, when you said Draco seemed 'distracted' during your relationship… what did you mean by that?"

"I assumed it was because… well, everyone knew that his father had fallen out of the Dark Lord's favor. I originally thought he was just trying not to be around too much in case anyone in our house gave him trouble about it. I know now it was specifically because he had been Marked and given a task by the Dark Lord."

"So he didn't try to confide in you… ever… when you were romantically involved?"

Pansy's expression dipped into irritation. "Sometimes he would tell me that he needed to talk to me about something, but when I would find him later to talk, he would just… bottle it down. And pretend he was fine."

"Did you know, then, that he had been Marked?"

"Yes. He didn't try especially hard to cover it."

"But he didn't talk to you about it."

"No."

"He never expressed his concerns about his parents, or anything of that nature?"

She swallowed. "No."

"And he didn't speak about why he had become a Death Eater."

"He said he had been chosen by the Dark Lord himself. That was it."

"Did he seem proud of this fact?"

Pansy's eyes narrowed at the prosecutor, then scanned the spectators and the jury. She turned back, looking directly at Draco. "No one was ever really 'proud' to join him. Joining him… honestly, we all hate our parents for it. It wasn't strength, it was weakness. He just used us for our money."

"But was Mr. Malfoy proud?"

"He wasn't really - "

"Yes or no."

"No," she ground out, realizing how unconvincing she sounded.

"Thank you, Miss Parkinson."

Pansy leaped out of her chair, eager to get out from under the scrutinous gaze of everyone in the room.

* * *

Hermione's thoughts about Draco were getting out of hand. She couldn't close her eyes without thinking about the time they spent together and what they _should_ have done, those months.

She thought about the days they spent in Canada, him absently stroking her hair or her arm. She thought about the nights, where his breath on her neck made her shiver, and she would scoot closer to him in response until he was holding her so tightly she was sure he would absorb her.

She thought about the showers they had shared, him running his fingers through her hair, dragging out loose strands and massaging her neck and shoulders. She thought about how utterly delicious his mouth had been after they had feasted on fruits and pastries, and how she never wanted to stop kissing him.

These thoughts were an ever present distraction to her daily activities. So instead of letting it further distract her from researching, forcing her out of her comfort zone, she turned it into something she could digest: a different kind of researching.

Hermione sighed as she flipped open her brand new copy of _Sex__ for __the __Well __Informed __Witch,_ trying to convince herself to just get it over with and read the darn thing.

_"Wizards and witches have had the best sex for centuries."_

Well, it wasn't a very convincing start. She snorted and went on.

_"The __unique __experience __shared __by __two __magical __beings __transcends __history, __and__ though__ many __have __studied __it, __it __has __never __been __fully __understood."_ That sounded promising. _"So__ difficult __it __has __been __for __scholars __to __map __out __the __nuances __of __such __a __unique __connection __- __"_

_Probably__ because__ they __were __too__ busy__ planting __their__ noses __in __books_, Hermione thought sourly.

"What are you reading?"

Hermione looked up in alarm, shoving the book to the floor with a resounding thump. "Who's reading what? When did you… what?"

Harry shook his head, his accusatory look dissolving into amusement at her shoddy attempt to cover herself. "I've been knocking for some time. The door was open."

"Oh," Hermione scratched at her scalp, nudging the book further under the table with her foot, and cringing when the linen cover scraped against her hardwood floor. Harry quirked his head to the side knowingly and bent to pick the book up. Hermione waited for his reaction, her face already pink.

"What the fuck," Harry muttered, flipping to a random page. "You can't be serious."

Suddenly Hermione was irritated. "Don't judge me," she replied crossly. "You and Ginny have been fooling around for ages."

"That's different - " he began, but quickly piped down when he remembered that he was supposed to be _understanding_ and _helpful_ about her situation, not lecture her about it.

"No, it's not different."

Harry sighed and scrunched up his shoulders, having the decency to look like he was sorry. "I know. Maybe I'm not the best person to talk to about this."

Hermione shook her head, already numb to the topic, her cheeks beginning to return to normal. "Well, I've tried talking to Ginny about it. I'm not sure I can deal with that again." She didn't really like the way Ginny tossed out certain phrases like they weren't embarrassing to think about. While they may seem normal enough to her, to Hermione they were exactly what she _didn't_ want to think about when she thought about being intimate with someone.

She wanted to find something deeper than all that. Something deeper than getting fingered, than fucking someone. Something deeper than… putting her discarded knickers back on and returning to what she was doing before. Was that so wrong?

"You can't read about how to do this in a book, Hermione - "

"Watch me," she retorted, snatching the book out of his hands before he could pry into it further.

Harry shook his head. "You know what I mean."

"Look," she said quietly, turning back to the first page, "this may sound pathetic, but this is how I deal with things I don't understand - I trust the people who are supposedly experts on the matter, the ones who literally write the books. That's what I do."

"That's not pathetic." He paused, trying to find a way to word his next statement, and smiled a bit. "Maybe if Ron and I had read a book or two, things would have been easier for us… "

She recognized when her friends began to appeal to her scholastic vanity or basically just agree with her to shut her up, but she sighed and nodded all the same. She still appreciated the effort. Besides, she didn't really want to think about how Harry and Ron, or any of her friends for that matter learned about sex. Ron had been a little too eager to progress to that side of their relationship, and though they had never gotten a chance to do more than cuddle, she didn't miss the expectation, or his sigh of exasperation when she stopped him from doing something she wasn't comfortable with.

"There is nothing wrong with _wanting_ to have sex with someone. Everyone does it."

"Right. We're done discussing this," Hermione said, her cheeks pink again. "Do you have news from Nora? The _Prophet_ didn't have anything substantial to say about the actual goings-on."

Harry shrugged and took the seat across from her. "Same as usual. Gerard is doing a great job defending him."

_But what difference is it going to make?_

"When is it that you go on the stand?"

"A week, maybe less."

"Are you prepared?"

This was probably the first time Harry had ever asked her if she was prepared for anything, but it was for good reason. Her testimony, they knew, could shave years off of his sentence. "I don't know if I am or not, honestly," she replied, absently flipping pages in _Sex __for __the __Well __Informed __Witch_. "I don't feel prepared, and that's the important thing."

Harry nodded, trying to catch her eye but failing, as she was focused on her book and unwilling to look up. "Have you eaten today? I'll make us something."

She met his eyes then, taking in his genuinely concerned expression, and smiled sheepishly. "I haven't. I'll have what you're making." She paused. "Thank you for checking up on me these weeks."

He shrugged, grinning. "I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't, would I?"

* * *

_Author's note_: Home stretch guys! Five or so chapters left. I know the spaced updates have been painful; I've been trying to re-write this story so by the time it's finished I can leave it alone. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!


	41. Duality

_"Romantic love is mental illness. But it's a pleasurable one. It's a drug. It distorts reality, and that's the point of it. It would be impossible to fall in love with someone that you really saw." ~ Fran Lebowitz_

**Chapter Forty-one: Duality**

"What did the prosecutor talk about when she was… prosecuting?"

Gerard looked away sadly; Hermione's fatigue was costing her some articulation. "She brought Shalvin, one of the Aurors that rescued you, to talk about the investigation and the battle. That actually worked out in our favor a little. But she also got a former Death Eater from Azkaban to talk about Draco as he was last year… I think that was the most damaging thing to our case. And she brought a Healer from St. Mungo's to talk about your injuries. Did you refuse psychological analysis at St. Mungo's?"

"Yes."

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "You should have gotten it, or at least told us. That came as a big surprise during the proceedings."

"I'm sorry. I just didn't want to waste time treating myself when Draco… I just thought I'd have time to sort myself out later. Besides, I'm fine."

"No you aren't, Miss Granger. Draco told us about what you looked like when he got to you. He said your were suspended by hooks on one of Master's famous machines. He said he had to pull needles out of you, and unstrap you… he thought you were dead."

Hermione swallowed, knowing her eyes were welling up with wetness and trying to hide this fact. "It wasn't so bad, just painful. It's more the memory torture I don't want to remember."

He inclined his head knowingly. "That may be true. But the prosecutor is claiming that you are 'suffering' from Stockholm Syndrome. You should have been evaluated at least for mental trauma immediately after you had woken up. It would have made you seem less... crazy."

Her heart dipped into her stomach. She didn't want to blame him, nor did she want to realize that yes, she may have been a victim of this phenomena. She didn't want to think that someone as smart as she could be blindsided by so common a psychological occurrence. Surely she was smarter than to fall into that?

But she could see that she really was a classic example. It was even confusing to her as to why she had started to have feelings for him in the first place. They had seemed to develop out of nowhere, with nothing to base them on but a few choice actions and words, after years of torment.

She had been alone with him almost every second of every day for _months_, and thus had gotten used to him fairly quickly.

They had stopped arguing after a while.

She had stopped hating him somewhere in there.

He'd healed her, making it clear that he had begun to care for her safety.

And then she had decided to join him, help him in his mission, his quest. The fact that ultimately she had the same goal now seemed unimportant. She had _gone along with him_.

"Maybe she's right," Hermione conceded, "but it doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does matter," Gerard said pressingly. "It matters because if it's true, it proves her argument. It was no wonder she didn't oppose you going on the stand. She's really going to let you have it."

"No she won't," Hermione muttered, adjusting the parchment on her lap. "Don't you think I already thought of this?"

"I certainly hope you have," he murmured, plucking his tea off the table and draining the cup. "She's trying to prove that Draco was only working against the Death Eaters for his own benefit, and if you try to disprove that, she's going to say it's because he's fooled you. And she has psychology on her side."

"I'll be careful," she retorted, already irritated that no one seemed to understand how much she was going to destroy the prosecutor.

"I'm not saying that this trial needs a boost… but let's be honest, Hermione. I know that somewhere in those books you've been reading and those memories you've been examining, you must have found something, some gem to help you."

"I have, actually."

"Really? And what might that be?"

"It's not a law, nor is it from an old trial. It's just something that is understood." She paused. "He didn't really kidnap me to begin with. He saved me and we went into hiding."

Gerard snorted. "Your memories say otherwise."

"Yes, but I didn't understand then, because I hated him. He kept me bound because I would have tried to get away, and in doing so would have been caught by Death Eaters."

"Cognitive dissonance," he said.

"What?"

"Cognitive dissonance, Hermione. It's when you basically make up excuses for why someone is doing something wrong. It's like an abused wife thinking her husband only hits her because he is stressed out, or that she didn't cook the roast properly."

"I _know_ what it means," she replied crossly.

"I'm on your side. I'm just trying to tell you what the prosecutor is going to say." He paused, glancing at the door as the guards opened it and led a shackled Draco to the table, where they forced him into a chair by the back of his neck. Draco's eyes flashed in irritation, but he said nothing. "I'll be back," Gerard said, standing up. "Too much tea." He left quickly.

Gerard's sudden departure was not lost on her. She leaned over and cupped Draco's face in her hand, rubbing her thumb over his stubble. He leaned into her hand tiredly, obviously enjoying the only comforting human interaction he'd had in a few days. He had tried to push his hair back from his eyes in its old style, flattening it against his head with water. Hermione reached up and threaded her fingers in it. "I like your hair better down," she said, and tugged it forward.

He grumbled something about, "too long," but she continued to comb his damp hair with her fingers, pulling his fringe back into his face and ruffling the back to dry it more quickly.

"It makes you look more... boyish," she said, fingering through his fringe one last time before she rubbed her thumb over his cheek again. "And less like a prat."

When he tried to lean in to kiss her, however, she leaned away and murmured, "I brought you lunch."

He looked up as Hermione pushed a paper bag towards him and tried to catch her eye as she pulled out a sandwich, an apple, and a large bar of chocolate, scooting his glass of water closer to his hand when she finished. She had packed him what looked like a schoolboy's lunch, but he dared not be ungrateful.

"Granger…" he began.

She shook her head. Draco had gotten into trouble the last time she had attempted to be somewhat intimate with him in this room, regardless of whether or not the crafty defense attorney had left them alone on purpose. "Gerard is in the loo, and is coming."

He nodded, deflated, and picked up the sandwich she had made him. It looked fantastic - sharp cheddar over smoked ham and lettuce, on a large focaccia roll. He bit into it immediately, excited for food that wasn't porridge or stew. He wasn't looking forward to eating that for the next however many years.

"I've been summoned by your mother for lunch tomorrow."

"Have fun with that," Draco said around his mouthful, shaking his now hanging fringe out of his eyes.

"It means that she wants to talk, and maybe even give her blessing," Hermione continued, unperturbed by his dismissal. She glanced up at his face; since the last time she had seen him, only a week before, he had already gotten thinner. The purple smudges under his eyes defined them unnaturally, and the skin around his mouth stretched so thin when he took a bite that she could see veins under his skin.

She averted her eyes quickly. It was odd to be close to him when she had spent years of her life avoiding him. Even though she knew it was _him_ that she had grown to love, it was not enough to blanket the memories of his eyes glaring at her across the dining hall during meals, or his mouth spewing insults at her and her friends. She'd rather close her eyes, where his presence was unchanged by the face she knew. He was different now to be sure, but his sarcastic, and sometimes gloomy tone was the same as it had been in the forest.

She tried not to show him her aversion however, since she could already feel his eyes on her when she visited him, and could already feel his question: _do you still want me now that you've seen me?_

"I go on the stand soon."

He nodded, taking another bite, and waited until he'd chewed it before he said, "And then they will deliberate over my sentence."

"Perhaps they'll drop some of the charges," Gerard said, closing the door.

Hermione stood up immediately, grateful for the break in her feeble attempt to draw him out of his funk. "I'm going to ask him questions."

He nodded once and raised his palm, dismissing her formality. "Of course, Miss Granger. Besides, I have some good news I'd rather you both be here for." He regarded Draco, who was still chewing, and said, "Nora has spoken to the warden over at Azkaban and he has agreed to put you in solitary confinement should you be admitted there. I know it isn't much, but it should protect you for at least some time until you can appeal for a place in the lower cells."

"The lower cells, next to the smaller criminals?"

"Yes. With any luck your cellmate there will have been arrested for tax fraud and _you_ won't have to worry about former Death Eaters picking on you. Also, I hear that Rita Skeeter is trying to get a book deal based on your journey."

"How lovely," Hermione said shortly. "She hasn't even spoken to either of us about it."

"Ah ah," Gerard chided lightly. "It is generating sympathy for his trial, you realize. If she gets the deal, be cooperative. The book proposal is over six-hundred pages, I hear, and called 'The Price of Courage'. So perhaps it may not be as… flowery… as she normally portrays everything. It may help, if he is sentenced to years in Azkaban, how quickly he can appeal. In any case, would you like to interview him now, or wait until after I've finished for the day?"

"Now." Hermione pulled her parchment pad toward her and fished around in her handbag for a muggle pen. She flipped a few pages, and Draco nearly snorted at all the lines of questions she had, pages of them. She had apparently taken her new certification of "analyst" very seriously.

"Surely you don't intend to ask me _all_ of those?" he muttered, stuffing the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and eying the apple she had brought.

"No," she replied absently, reading. "Just the important ones."

Draco knew that if she had written something down at all it was already deemed "important," but knew better than to say anything about it. "Alright then."

"Remember what I told you, Draco," Gerard said quietly, reminding Draco to be honest and to forget his pride. He had already done plenty of that in the past few weeks, so it was not a new thing. On the other hand, Hermione's presence made answering difficult questions just that much harder. It was hard to imagine that he could be any more embarrassed around her after what had happened at the Worthington's house, but… there were still some things he didn't feel like sharing.

Maybe she had seen his mind, his soul, and hadn't felt disgusted. Maybe he knew she understood some things. But talking about it all was not his favorite pastime.

"At what point did you recognize that Lord Voldemort and Master No Name were wrong in their ideas?"

He grimaced. She wasted no time. "Maybe I always knew."

"Then why did you go along with them?"

"I… " So heavy, and so soon! Draco looked down at his hands. "He promised us comfort, wealth, and glory. And my father was already bound to him as a former Death Eater."

Hermione shook her head. "That didn't answer my question."

"Well, when you are specifically requested to do something by the Dark Lord, you can't exactly - "

"That's not what I'm talking about."

"Can we move on, yeah?" Draco snapped.

There was a flicker of fear in Hermione's eyes, but before Draco could apologize for being snippy she had already put a star next to the question and moved on. "At what point did you decide to intervene in Master's plan involving me?"

This one was easier. "As soon as she imprisoned me."

"And when was this?"

Draco paused. "A few days after the Dark Lord fell."

She stopped writing and glanced at Gerard, who was watching the two of them with interest. "Where were your parents? I thought they went into hiding."

"No. My father was arrested, and the other Death Eaters said we had to go far away to avoid being sent to Azkaban. So they took me to Canada. It was there that I learned that Master, who at the time was just called No Name, had been plotting to overthrow the Dark Lord. She seized power immediately, and I was suddenly the Boy Who Couldn't Kill Dumbledore again."

"_That's_ why you were imprisoned?"

"Yes. Because not only did I prove that I doubted our cause," Draco paused, swallowing, "but also that I lacked the ability to be of any real use."

Her eyes were suddenly on his, and she understood how much that must have angered him. No matter what, if someone said you weren't valuable as a wizard, it was the lowest insult. It was a rejection of what you were, to your core, and what you study for years to master. She can't imagine how insulting that must have been for him as a pureblood; it's already insulting enough for a muggleborn.

"Why did you decide to intervene?"

"I hated her," he muttered darkly. He looked up, and saw in her expression that this answer wasn't good enough. "Because I didn't believe what they were saying anymore. I still couldn't… couldn't respect muggles and muggleborns, but I didn't think it was worth it to _fix_ the lot of the world. It occurred to me how much pain and death would be involved for everyone. And I just knew that whatever she was planning was going to hurt the wizarding race most of all."

"So you _didn't_ believe in the 'light side' then?"

"Honestly… I don't know."

Hermione scoffed. "Protecting life, all forms of it? Promoting kindness and acceptance and that. How can one _not?_"

He waved his hand, indicating that she needed to move on.

She fixed him with a determined stare, realizing that he was disappointing her with his answers. Maybe he _still_ was the same person he had been a year ago; maybe not enough had changed. Maybe she hadn't done enough.

"I know you think that you changed me," he muttered. "And you did, Hermione. I'm talking about the _past,_ remember."

"Right," she said, faltering slightly. "You don't believe in any of that anymore, do you?"

He shook his head. "I've seen too much for myself to believe it." _Instead of relying on things I shouldn't have._

"Good." She put a star next to the question and read the next one: "What were your intentions when you first rescued me?"

"I was originally going to warn you, but then I realized that you would curse me on sight. Then I was just going to kill Rubinoff and Krokesh, but before I could, Rubinoff got away. So I knew that if I didn't keep you safe myself, they would just try again with different people. And there is only so much the Ministry can do to protect you. They always get you eventually."

"And you didn't trust the Ministry regardless."

"Exactly. How could I, after it basically let the Dark Lord control the Minister like that? Control _everyone?_ No. There was no way I was going to trust the Ministry with this, after how Master made the whole scheme sound like the fate of the world depended on your capture." He paused. "But then I did mess everything up by trying to fight back."

Hermione ignored the last bit. She tried not to think about how nonchalantly he spoke about his plan to kill the other Death Eaters. Even though she would certainly kill someone if her life or any of her friends' lives depended on it, she would never take it so lightly.

"What were your intentions after you rescued me?"

"I… was just going to hide us away, for as long as it took."

"Forever?"

"If it came to that. But I realized that I couldn't do that. Hiding from everyone is too tiring and taxing, and I knew we wouldn't last more than a few months, or even weeks. I think I knew, even then, that I had to take them down."

"Why didn't you just go to the Order?"

He snorted. "Where was I going to find them? Besides. I wanted to do things myself."

"And the Order was long since disbanded, Miss Granger," Gerard put forth, and Hermione started slightly, forgetting he was sitting there. "It only came together in the final hour of need. Afterwards, there was no formal reunion."

Draco smoothed his hair back from his face, though it only stayed for a second before it fell forward again, and said, "How are you going to present this to the Minister?"

"I'm not. This is purely for the sake of your case."

"So you aren't going on the stand."

"I _am_ going on the stand. But not as an analyst." She fingered the edges of her parchment pad and looked away from him, closing her eyes. "I'm going on as the victim."

She dared not open her eyes and see Draco's expression, but she could feel the sadness coming off him in waves. He exhaled. "Look, Hermione… "

"There's nothing that can be done. I… didn't do enough."

"No, Miss Granger, you did plenty. The victim status just trumps all."

Hermione met Draco's eyes apologetically. Could he tell that she was afraid of him? Did he know that even though she loved him, she would rather not have to look at him?

And most of all, was he angry?

* * *

"I got you in," Richard said enthusiastically, passing her a roll of parchment.

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Excellent timing. I just finished my argument." She scanned the official document. She would appear in front of the Confederation of Wizards… in two days time. Her heart thudded against her ribcage.

"I know you've already talked to some members of the Wizengamot and I know you go on the stand in the Malfoy trial at the end of next week. I'm sorry I couldn't get you in sooner… but this is what I could manage before his trial ended."

"No, this is perfect, thank you Richard!"

"Not a problem at all. You've been doing good work. How are your preparations going for the witness stand?"

"Alright, I suppose. I'm hoping that the Confederation can change some things before he is sentenced. I know the hope is dismal, but I have to try."

"Yes. The Confederation does take a while to deliberate on things. I don't want to pressure you further, but it may depend on how well you convince them."

Hermione nodded solemnly, the determination in her eyes outshining her tired appearance and giving light to the purple rings under her eyes. "I know. Also, I have finished the project you asked for."

"Great work. Pass it over to Helen, and I'll have a look at it on Monday. And Hermione? Why don't you take next week off. I know you've only been working four hour shifts these days, but you are going to need next week to get your mind right."

"Thank you, Richard. You are doing me a huge favor."

He waved her off, smiling. "Anything I can do. I'm not getting nearly the same flack that Nora is getting for helping with the trial. I heard that Marjorie Kindle, the prosecutor, has gotten the Auror Office's support. That has got to be stressful for Nora."

It seemed that Richard had been right about the trial - the Ministry seemed to be splitting down the middle these days. Whenever Hermione went to work, she could feel people's eyes on her, hear them whispering about how crazy she was or how great of a girlfriend she must be to help _him_.

Mr. Weasley was rather silent about the whole thing, but it was no secret how much his department disliked the Malfoy family and all that they stood for; their side was made clear very early on. The Department of Mysteries did not seem to care about the trial, but was rather trying to get ahold of Hermione for questioning, as she was the only person within reach that had been privy to Master's explanation of her research. Hermione avoided their questions as much as she could, as she did not want to think about that night ever again.

"She even had Shalvin on the stand. I thought Nora and Kingsley Shacklebolt were supposed to be friends."

Kingsley hadn't spoken to Hermione directly since she had convinced him to back her up in her scheme to get the Order involved with the trial. Even when she had been in the same room as him he hadn't so much as glanced at her. She wondered how he had gone from offering his support to backing the prosecution in so short a time. "They are. But this trial is different. Kingsley has dealt with the Malfoy family too many times to support Draco in this, even if it means supporting Nora."

"Hmm. This is definitely going to be a defining moment for us."

"My only hope is that the Wizengamot can at least see how important this is for the rebuilding of our world." And that in the end, all the strings she was pulling for Draco would pay off.

* * *

_Author's note_: Song for this chapter is "Risk" by Deftones.


End file.
